Safety in the Storm
by jadedlight
Summary: After the death of Voldemort, the world did not change as they had hoped it would. No, the death-eaters were not defeated; they merely shifted from one leader to another... one far more human and far more diabolical than the others before him. HDr
1. Something's Coming

**TITLE:** Safety in the Storm Chapter One  
**AUTHOR:** Jennie  
**RATING:** PG-13 for this part… later it will be R  
**DISCLAIMER:** I don't own Harry Potter although I believe that one day I will. As a result I am just borrowing the characters of Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Ron Weasley, Harry Potter, etc. Samantha, Sebastian, Simon and Melissa Weasley are my creations and can be used if you seek my written permission. 

_Looks like something's coming,  
Looks like there's gonna be a storm.  
Looks like everyone's running,  
Looks like everyone's torn.  
_

--Tara MacLean 

As Hermione Granger turned the page of "The Little Witch Who Could…" she paused and beamed down at little three year old Samantha Weasley. The child was snuggled in Hermione's lap, staring wide-eyed as she sucked on her thumb, thoroughly engrossed in the story. Sammy giggled and pointed down at the character in the picture, who was impatiently jumping up and down in an effort to continue the story. 

Hermione quickly obliged. "'I think I can,' the little witch thought as she practiced waving her wand. 'I think I can,' she thought again as she stared hard at the feather." Immediately, the little witch slipped out of the picture, no doubt waiting for her to turn the page. 

Five year old identical terrors Simon and Sebastian whispered conspiratorially to each other from their place on the floor at her feet, but halted as she raised an eyebrow knowingly. They might be able to dupe some less astute souls but she was an expert at the inner workings of the Weasley mind, as they were well aware. 

As she resumed the intriguing saga to see if the young witch really would be able to levitate the feather, out of the corner of her eye she spied a lean frame casually resting against the doorjamb. Again, she paused, sparing a glance at her roommate. At the sight of a steaming mug in his hand, she grinned cheekily. 

Harry always knew the way straight into her heart. 

Eagerly, she reached out her hand. Nothing like a little caffeine to keep her on her toes, especially considering the kind of day she'd had that day. 

Harry grinned boyishly and she was instantly taken back to the day, fifteen years before, when she had first met him on the Hogwarts express. He had been so innocent, so free of the worries that bound him now. She missed that about him. His light green eyes danced, reflecting an optimism that she hadn't seen in a long while. But then he ruined her reminiscing by refusing to hand the mug over. 

Bloody bastard. 

He must've seen her glower because he chuckled softly. "Wait until Sammy is out of the danger zone. I've seen the way you attack this stuff." 

God, he made her sound so pathetic. So she enjoyed a cup of coffee every once in a while, there was nothing wrong with that. Okay, admittedly Hermione would sometimes drink a bit more than that daily but she never went above three pots… unless it was a really bad day. 

Yeah, she was addicted. She knew it, but she would never give Harry the satisfaction of hearing her say so. 

Ultimately, she followed the twins' five year old tactics and decided to ignore him, only to find her audience had disappeared. Simon and 'Bastion, the dangerous duo, were occupied with some small action figures in the corner and little Sammy's eyes were beginning to droop. Even the witch in the book had given up on her ever finishing (Hermione leaving a book unfinished, as shocking as that was) and was dozing on the grass. 

Before she had a chance to set the book down, Harry was in front of her, gently easing the sleepy child into his arms. As his head neared hers, he winked and brushed his lips across her temple. 

"Put her on my bed," Hermione mouthed, knowing full well that Harry's room was officially considered a disaster area. At first, she had tried asking him nicely to clean up after himself. She even tried bribing him, saying that she would stop making fun of him for not having a job. It didn't work either. Then she resorted to black mail. Once, a few years before, Harry and Ginny had an intimate night together that he desperately tried to hide from Ron, but she didn't have the heart to tell Ron. Intimidation was next. When that failed to work (and it had nothing to do with her intimidation skills, she tested them on the kids across the street everyday) she had even posted sticky notes everywhere with messages like 'wash me' and 'pick me up' or definitions of words like 'closet' and 'bureau' but in the end, they just seemed to add to the clutter. Now, she simply gave up and cleaned up after him. But she put her foot down when it came to his room. Who knew what she would find growing under his bed. Just the thought of it made her shudder. 

Sneakily, she took a couple of quick gulps from the abandoned and rapidly cooling mug and then followed Harry to the back of her—scratch that—their small house. 

Her heart warmed as she watched him lay the child down on the bed, Sam's strawberry blond hair fanning on the pillow below. She really was a beautiful child. Ron was such a lucky dad. And after observing Harry's soft, if not on-key, hums to loll the child to sleep, she knew what an amazing dad he would make one day as well. That is, if he'd actually go on a date every once in a while. 

But first things first, he needed to find a job. Just because he'd single-handedly destroyed Voldemort a year and a half before, it did not give him reason to be a bum. 

With a hint of a smile, he crossed to her and gathered her into his arms. "You'll have your own little girl one day, Hermione." 

She grinned into his chest. "Funny, I was just thinking the same about you." 

Quietly chuckling, Harry wrapped his arms tighter around her, pressing Hermione's ear to his chest. She stayed there a moment, listening to the muted timber of his laugh and enjoying the warmth and strength he gave her. 

A year before, she would have quit her job (a huge sacrifice on Hermione's part) in order to have a baby but… things change. Right now, she would settle for a decent relationship. There had been a time, a brief idealistic phase when she was sixteen, when she had endlessly dreamed about finding true love. The kind of love that stole her breath away and made her dizzy with passion. But now that she was older, she realized that little girls' fantasies and real life didn't mix. When she was young she was taught that love was this conventional thing… that it was as simple as meeting someone and things happened instantly. But they never said that love could be a poison as well if you weren't careful. And she was tired of being poisoned… of being sick. 

With a brief look of concern, Harry glanced down at her. "Now don't go kicking yourself again about giving that snarking bastard the boot. He deserved it." 

That was true. Kevin had deserved coming home to find all of his belongings on the front lawn and Harry living in his place (she would forever be in Harry's debt for that one). But their relationship had been amazing. They had been like a well-oiled machine. Always working, never sputtering. He would start a sentence and she would finish it. They were a part of each other, the same way a wand is a part of a wizard until the spell is over. She and Kevin were a part of each other for a short time and then their magic was over… his magic had changed. 

But she still missed the companionship that she had with Kevin. Sure, she and Harry were as close as friends could get but it wasn't the same. There was something missing. 

Maybe she missed the snogging? Well, she was only human, after all. 

A long time passed without anything being said and it was in those moments where they were the closest. They may not have communicated verbally, but she knew him well enough to know what he was thinking… how he ticked. If someone were to ask her to describe the best feeling in her life, it had to be any time that she was wrapped in Harry's arms. She felt safe there. 

She could have stayed like that for a ridiculously long amount of time but reality eventually came floating back in the form of two mischievous giggles, which wafted in from the living room. 

"Bugger, if they set fire to the carpet again, Harry—" But he was already gone as the sound of breaking glass followed. 

So much for Sammy taking a nap. 

"Where did you get these?" The tone of her best friend's voice startled her. It wasn't everyday that he got narky with a Weasley. Quickly, she hefted Sam into her arms, hoping the child's whimpers did not become anything more. 

As an afterthought, she grabbed her wand (hidden out of harm's way from the twins—she'd learned that lesson the hard way) as well. Surprisingly, the room was not the utter chaos it usually was when the twins did something naughty. They stood backed into the corner, wide-eyed and abnormally silent, warily watching their uncle who hardly ever became agitated. 

"Reparo," she muttered and the lamp to her left began piecing itself back together. But even that didn't get the duo's attention like it normally would. Having a muggle mother and, well, Ron as their father, they didn't really see a great deal of magic around their house, er, that is, magic performed properly. 

"Now, now. No harm done, Uncle Harry." She really didn't know why he was getting so upset over that lamp. It wasn't like he liked it. In fact, he had broken it on 'accident' a few times himself. "Give them their toy back." She put her hand out and was surprised when he didn't give it up. "Come on now, Harry," she hissed. "Remember, we've been trying to teach them how to share. You're not helping." 

"But it's me!" 

Hermione rolled her eyes and looked heavenward as she sighed heavily. "Yes, but just because you have the-boy-who-lived-and-then-kicked-Voldemort's-arse status does not mean you can hoard all your nephews' toys. Now give it here." 

"No, 'Mione. It's ME!" He held the little action figure up so she could see it. 

"Well, I'll be soused," she whispered as the teeny-tiny Harry winked at her with a brilliant smile before hopping on his mini broom and zooming around her head. "Sebastian, where did you get this?" she asked, trying not to laugh at the horror on the real Harry's face. 

'Bastian grinned a semi-toothless smile, which made it all the more difficult for her to keep a straight face. "Uncle George has 'em in his shop." 

Harry now looked ill. "You mean he's selling these?" 

The boy nodded and Hermione put her hand on Harry's arm, as if that would keep him from apparating instantly over to the shop and giving Fred and George a piece of his mind. Unfortunately, it did nothing to hinder Harry for a second later her hand was closed around air. 

It was going to be a long night. 

***** 

The fire popped and crackled as the logs settled, sending a shower of golden embers though the fireplace. Hermione looked over from her spot, curled up in Harry's big chair by the fire, to the kids who were engrossed in some cartoon on the telly. She didn't watch them for long because soon her attention was drawn back down to the research journal in her lap. 

It was always like that with her. If there was something she didn't know, something that she couldn't figure out, it became a sort of obsession with her. No matter what she was doing, it would always be in the back of her mind, haunting her… taunting her. 

For the past month, she and her research team in the Charms Use and Regulation Department of the Ministry had been trying to create a charm that boosted an individual's energy (and this had nothing to do with her caffeine addiction, honestly) but they had yet to perfect it and it was driving her insane. They were coming close; she could feel it, yet she couldn't, for the life of her, figure out what was missing. 

Earlier that day, she had experimented on Marcus Hess, affectionately dubbed 'the lab rat' due to his willingness to try anything and everything and at the time was certain that that would be the moment all their hard work paid off. She had watched intently as his eyes glazed over but just as suddenly they came into sharp focus and he looked around the room awed. Heart beating like crazy, she could hardly keep herself from jumping up and down but then, just as he turned to face her, the spasms hit. 

For an agonizing thirty-seven minutes, she had held his head in her lap, desperately trying to brush away the tears and soothe the pain but by the end his moans had become screams and they were both soaked in tears and sweat. After seeing him safely to the infirmary, she had rushed to the bathroom just in time to see her breakfast come up. It made her physically ill knowing that she had done that to him, that she had been the cause of his pain. Needless to say, she'd come home early that day. 

Hermione looked at the letter on her lap. She knew what it was, yet that nauseous feeling was back and she was afraid that if she read it, she would never be able to face him ever again. When the owl had arrived, she had been tempted to send it back, to pretend it never came but to do that would be like saying that what had happened that day didn't matter. That Marcus had gone through all that agony for nothing. So in the end, she carefully tore open the envelope and read Marcus' report of what had happened. 

Twenty minutes passed in which Hermione was oblivious to everything but her thoughts. The more she read it, the more confused she became. Marcus had described a harsh and blinding light that seemed to burn and scorch him but that didn't make sense. She didn't know why it hadn't hit her before but she realized that this was not a potent charm. It shouldn't have created even a mild discomfiture much less a burning pain. What had she done wrong? 

Rubbing the back of her neck, she pushed her hair behind her ear and bit her lower lip. She hated when she did that, but it had become habitual. 

Just then, the front door slammed open and Ron's good-humored voice bellowed in. "I've got presents!" 

Hermione was left alone in the living room within five seconds. She liked to think it had nothing to do with the gifts they were about to receive and everything to do with seeing their loving parents, but Hermione knew better. Kids never quite appreciated their parents until they moved out. She still missed hers terribly. 

Even Harry, who had been making dinner in their cramped kitchen ever since he had gotten back from speaking with Fred and George (Hermione got the impression that it didn't go too well), sped through to greet his friend. Hermione slowly stood up, stretching out her aching back as she stuffed the journal and papers into her bag. Quietly, she stuck her head around the corner to the entryway. The last thing she wanted to do was interrupt the family reunion prematurely. Unlike some people, namely Harry, she wasn't a present hog. 

Melissa spotted her immediately and slipped over with a shy smile. Although Hermione had known her for years (she used to live next door to her), she really didn't know much about her. Always quiet and introverted, she hadn't let anyone past her defenses, that is, until she met Ron. Hermione still didn't know exactly when it had happened but she was glad nonetheless. 

"How were the kids?" she asked in her meek but gentle voice. "They didn't cause too much of a ruckus, did they?" 

Hermione put her hand on Melissa's shoulder. "Nothing Harry and I couldn't handle. How was the romantic weekend away?" 

A deep blush bloomed on Melissa's cheeks and she ducked her head. "Perfect. Ron really outdid himself this time." 

Hermione smiled. Thank goodness Ron hadn't let it slip like he had a tendency to do. Sometimes Hermione felt that he had spent too much time with Hagrid. In fact, Hermione had orchestrated the whole excursion herself after seeing how ragged the young mother was getting. It was difficult watching twins in general, not to mention twins with magical propensities. She glanced over to her redheaded best friend. He winked secretively at her, a sparkle in his eyes. It definitely had been a good weekend, then. 

Thirty minutes later, as Harry helped pack up the rest of the bags, they said their goodbyes and walked outside to Melissa's car. Early on in her relationship with Ron, she had insisted on using the car no matter how much easier flue powder was. Personally, Hermione thought she was smart. 

As she was stepping off the porch, Ron's hand gently grasped her arm, halting her so that they stood alone together under the overhang. 

"You don't look so good… a little green around the gills, if you ask me—you're not preggers, are you?" 

Blunt to a fault, that was her Ron. "No, I'm not pregnant and I'm fine." She tried giving him her deadliest glare. He simply laughed and pulled her into an embrace. 

"All things not well in Lollipop Land? Are things suddenly altering from the happy Disney script?" he teased. She pushed him away. 

"Despite what you may think, my life is not all sweet and innocent as you would choose to believe." Then, as an afterthought, she added, "And you've been watching too much TV with your kids." 

Bypassing her second comment, Ron bent close to her ear. "Oh, yeah? When was the last time you boffed?" 

Flustered, Hermione swatted at him. "Low blow, Mr. I'm-married-and-can-get-it-all-the-time." 

One of the twins yelped and Ron looked across the yard worriedly. "Now I know how my parents felt," he mumbled more to himself than to Hermione. "Anyway, I wanted to give you something." He dug in his pocket and pulled out a small box. 

"You already gave me a present," she said, confused, and held up the book detailing the history of the island that he and Melissa had visited. 

He waved it away. "Yeah, but this is a thank you. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have met Melissa, gotten married—" 

"Okay, okay," she cut him off knowing that he would go on forever. Gingerly, she lifted the lid and gasped as she saw the delicate, gold necklace. Slipping it into her fingers, she noticed that it had two small stars from which dangled a crescent moon. "Ron! This is too much! Too expensive! I can't." 

He slowly closed her outstretched hand back around the necklace. "It's from Harry as well. Just think of it as an early Christmas present." Once he saw that she wasn't going to fight the gift anymore, he leaned down and pointed to a hidden clasp on the side of the small moon. "Open it." 

As she did, they heard the sound of a young girl giggling. With a jolt, she realized it was herself. Then Ron's high laugh joined hers as well as the sounds of a struggle. Harry's voice added to the scene as he said, "Give it back, Hermione!" He sounded as though he were trying to keep a straight face. 

"I just can't believe you got a love letter!" she screeched from the locket. Soon she and Ron were chanting over and over again "You got a love letter, you got a love letter," over Harry's groans. The laughter began to fade. 

Hermione cocked her head to the side curiously, a small smile creeping onto her face. "I remember that! Harry received that really gushy Valentine and was so embarrassed by it." Ron chuckled with her. "He tried hiding it from us," she added quietly, remembering the innocent fun they had at sixteen. 

"That one was one of mine. You see, Harry and I put memories of some of the best times we'd ever had in here. Every time you open it, a new one should play." She found it funny that one of Ron's favorite memories dealt with torturing Harry. She wondered if they were all like that. 

He helped her put it on and she fingered it. "It's beautiful, Ron. Thank you. I love you both." 

He chuckled as she clung to him. "I should give you a present everyday. Maybe you wouldn't be so mean." 

"I'm not mean!" 

There was a pause as he examined her. "You know I love you too." He looked down at her in concern and played with a strand of her long hair. Unwillingly, she was taken back to that dreary March day in their seventh year at Hogwarts, lying in a puddle of her own blood, staring up into the same concerned and terrified eyes, gasping for breath— 

She forcibly shook her head to clear the vision, dismayed to find her hands shaking. 

"Are you sure you're alright?" 

"Yeah, just a long day." He looked doubtful and she knew that he was on the verge of calling Harry over and once Harry became worried about her, she wouldn't have a quiet moment to herself for a week. They were too overprotective of her. 

"Really, I'm fine. I just had an awful day at work and coming home to your kids didn't help." As predicted, the subject change quite neatly distracted him. 

"Hey, you were the one who insisted on taking them in. I wanted to leave them out in the wilderness somewhere." 

"Yes, yes. You were right. Next time we can do that. Now, stop dawdling and get your arse down to your family." She playfully smacked him on the arse, ushering him off the porch. 

"Love you, hun. I'll call you tomorrow." 

"Can we get lunch?" Ron had taken over his dad's old position in the Ministry the year before. Since they only worked a few floors from each other, they tried to have lunch together a few times a week. 

"Sure." 

She waved as they drove away, wary about going to sleep. She still sometimes woke from nightmares that were so real she would often times be screaming and sweating so profusely that it was impossible to go back to sleep. Her nightmares were always the same. She shivered as the image flashed in her mind again. It had been at least a week since she'd dreamt about that night but she figured that, after the traumatic day she'd had, she wouldn't be having a very restful night. 

"You planning on standing out here all night?" Harry asked from the doorway. With one last deep breath of the cold night air, she followed him into the house. 

***** 

_**Author Note:** I know what you're thinking. "Where's Draco?" I promise, he'll be in the next part. I pinky swear. _


	2. Dark Places

**TITLE:** Safety in the Storm Chapter Two  
**AUTHOR:** Jennie  
**DISCLAIMER:** Refer to chapter one.   
**RATING:** R for violence (just to be on the safe side)   
**PAIRING:** Yes, this is Draco/Hermione  
**AUTHOR NOTE #1:** Big thanks goes to my lil' sis, Shayla, for beta'ing for me. Shameless plug alert!! Shayla is writing an amazing 5th year novel (actually a 5th, 6th & 7th year trilogy) that you MUST read entitled "Harry Potter and the Fall of Childhood." Go to   
**AUTHOR NOTE #2:** I cannot login to my account on my computer (don't ask, really long story) so any formatting or uploading mistakes are solely my sister Shayla's doing. Do not fear, we will tar and feather her if they occur.   
**  
Chapter Two**  
  
_This__ is the way the world ends  
This is the way the world ends  
This is the way the world ends  
Not with a bang but a whimper.  
  
--T.S.Eliot "The Hollow Men"  
  
**Dark Places**  
  
She felt the knife slide cleanly through her and the pain that assaulted all her senses at once was so real and so vivid that she believed it was actually happening again.  
  
'No,' she thought, desperately trying to clear her mind, erase the pain. "This is just a dream," she whispered to herself as Voldemort's black cloak swirled into view. "This is just a dream. Voldemort is dead."  
  
It became a mantra for her, mumbled over and over again, even when she tasted the metallic tang of her blood and felt it dribbling out the side of her mouth.  
  
_'This is just a dream. Voldemort is dead.'_  
  
Ron was bending over her now, panicked. She couldn't see, but she knew that his leg was broken and that Colin was dead... knew because this wasn't real. It was just a dream. It had already happened and she had survived. It had passed.  
  
But in that moment, reliving the pain and terror, she didn't think it would ever pass. It would always be there, haunting her.  
  
A cold shiver wracked through her and she found she couldn't breathe very well. The room began to swirl into darkness and Hermione let out a sigh of relief. Death was a release, and with it, she would never have to experience this moment ever again. But she knew she would. The ending never changed. She always survived.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Hermione woke up as she always did after a nightmare: sheets tangled and damp, hair plastered to her face, and her body wracked with shivers. Her body ached from an invisible torment and she wanted more than anything to go back to sleep; but that wouldn't be possible today. Tears still stung her eyes and she swiped at them, as if wiping them away would erase the memories as well. The images were still fresh in her mind and she shuddered as the emotions from the nightmare coursed through her. Would there ever be a time when she didn't remember?  
  
She felt groggy and irritable and knew that it would continue through the day-especially if she didn't get enough caffeine pumped into her system. So, she dragged herself out of bed and stumbled blindly to the kitchen to start the amazing, life-sustaining muggle coffeemaker. Just the smell of it helped to wake her up. Mug in hand, she listened as the coffeemaker began its usual rhythm of drips and stared out the window to the backyard. There looked to be the beginnings of a storm brewing outside.  
  
Something in the back of the house creaked and she held her breath, trying to identify the sound. Was it someone walking around or just those silly night sounds that popped up occasionally to scare you when you least expected it. It was too early (or too late depending on how you looked at it) for Harry to be up.  
  
And just as she thought that, Harry stumbled in, hair sticking up every which way and glasses askew.  
  
"I thought I heard you and your contraption." He nodded to the coffeemaker. "Couldn't sleep?"  
  
Hermione shook her head. "I'm okay. Go back to bed."  
  
He squinted at her through his glasses. "You look exhausted. What's going on?"  
  
"Nothing, you just scared me."  
  
He continued to observe her, making her uncomfortable. Putting her mug down, she headed for the bathroom. Harry trailed after her. "Seriously, Hermione. There's something wrong and you're avoiding me. Why are you running away?"  
  
"I'm not. I'm going to take a shower." She waited a moment and when he made no move to leave, she shrugged and took off her shirt. "Are you planning on joining me?"  
  
His face beet red, he looked down at his feet. "No, look, tonight we are sitting down and discussing what is going on. No more changing the subject, no more avoiding it. Okay?"  
  
Hermione sighed but consented. "Okay, I promise."  
  
He nodded and, keeping his eyes on everything but her, left the bathroom. Her shower wasn't as soothing as it normally was and when she stepped out, she didn't feel refreshed at all.  
  
Thoroughly depressed and exhausted, she set about the mundane tasks of housecleaning. Taking her frustrations out on dust bunnies seemed the only option open to her. She didn't know why or how, but cleaning always seemed to calm her.  
  
After a few hours and the entire pot of coffee, she looked at her watch. 4:30. It was still too early to go to work. Then again, after yesterday's fiasco, she convinced herself that the earlier she went in, the better. She didn't know if Marcus was planning on showing up. Facing him was the last thing she wanted to do today.  
  
Resolutely, she darted into her bedroom and slipped into a comfortable pair of jeans, a long sleeve shirt, and sneakers before grabbing her work cloak. Just as she was leaving her bedroom, her reflection caught her eye. Dark auburn strands of hair escaped her messy ponytail, falling into her pale face and framing the deep circles under her eyes. She looked at herself, scrutinizing, trying to see herself as others saw her.  
  
While she never thought of herself as ugly, she also wouldn't put herself into the 'stunning' category. Her skin was too pale and she felt she was a bit on the skinny side. Hoping to weight her hair down and thus defeating the frizziness that had tormented her her entire life, she grew it out long. While it was a big improvement, Hermione still had a fair share of bad hair days.  
  
Giving up on her appearance, she wrapped herself tightly in her cloak and slipped outside to get the muggle newspaper. A leaden gray blanket covered the sky from horizon to horizon, grumbling threateningly at those brave souls, like herself, who dared to be out. She quickly darted underneath the dark cloud cover that hung over the whole region like some brooding menace, and grabbed the bagged paper. She'd never put much stock in omens or divination, but those clouds didn't help her mood any. On the way back, she paused, trying to pinpoint the nagging feeling she had in the back of her mind.  
  
Something was definitely wrong. She could feel it. It could've been the way the wind was blowing against her or the color of the clouds overhead, but something was out of place. Something was coming and her gut told her it wasn't good.  
  
Needless to say, she ducked back inside fairly quickly. It was simple. She was going insane. Absolutely bonkers. Her friends should take her to the funny farm now before she got a job as Hogwarts' new Divination teacher and began spouting out predictions about Harry's death every other day.  
  
No, she wasn't bitter about that class at all.  
  
Feeling a tad bit frazzled, she tossed the paper on the table, grabbed her bag and wand, and apparated with an exasperated smile on her face. A moment later, she was in the security room, aptly named "The Landing Zone." It was the only place in the entire Ministry building without anti-apparating wards. Measuring fifty feet across, the room had never looked so empty. Usually it was jam-packed with people bustling to meetings, worrying about the newest magical advances, or (more often than Hermione wanted to believe) flirting. Soon, people would begin arriving and the din would be so loud she'd practically have to shout to be heard.  
  
But now, the room seemed vast and her timid footsteps echoed harshly against the marble floor breaking the silence that threatened to consume her. Then again, she was glad that she was here before most others. Although she wouldn't admit it to anyone, she didn't want even a glimpse of another wizard right now. There were too many black cloaks around this place and this silence was getting to her. Every time she turned around, she half-expected to spot a swirling black robe, dark and sinister eyes-No! Voldemort was dead! Defeated! She mustn't let black memories distract her from life any longer.  
  
Whispering the password to one of the many doors, she slipped through before it had a chance to open completely and entered the main corridor. The immensity and beauty of the Ministry's architecture had never failed to enchant her... until that day. Usually she would wander through the halls, looking at sculptures or discussing the latest gossip or political scandal, depending on which painting she was talking to. But today, she headed straight for the stairs, ignoring Bertha, a pretty but plump painting off to her right who was fiercely waving her arm about.  
  
As she reached the fourth floor, she thought she heard something. She stopped and held her breath. An icy finger of worry tickled down her spine. Waiting there on the stairs, straining her ears, she wondered if it was one of the guards. In fact, now that she thought about it, she usually saw at least two by this time. Maybe something had happened?  
  
Her courage returned slightly and she shook her head, feeling extremely silly. She was the biggest wuss ever. She shouldn't even be remembered as a Gryfindor. She didn't deserve the title.  
  
She reached the fifth floor and was stepping into the dimly lit hallway that led to her office when she heard it again. It had sounded like a man's voice. Unsure of what to do, Hermione listened again, hoping to hear Sean or one of the other workers' voices.   
  
Which was the million-dollar question. Why was she so nervous? She was here practically every day for hours and hours on end. She should be comfortable here. This was silly. There was __nothing to fear here.  
  
And the silence resumed. A silence that was somehow thicker than it had been before. And much darker.  
  
Hermione set her teeth firmly together in defiance. "I will not be intimidated," she hissed to the silence. "Not here; not anywhere."   
  
The door to her office creaked open as if by a gust of wind and sneaking forward, she peeked into the room. What she saw made her eyes narrow in anger.  
  
Marcus was digging through her desk.  
  
"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" she exclaimed, hands planted firmly on her hips.  
  
He looked up, startled, but recovered quickly. "Where's your research journal?" he demanded, stepping out from around the desk, treading on the scattered papers that littered the floor.  
  
"I'm sorry?"   
  
"Your research journal, where is it?" His voice was laced with something she hadn't heard in his voice before. It made her nervous.  
  
"I think you'd better leave, Marcus."   
  
He didn't seem to hear her, or didn't seem to care because he continued towards her.  
  
"Now. Don't force me to get security." She pointed sternly to the doorway. "And let me tell you, I will be filing a formal complaint with the Minister--" She cut off as he lunged at her. He slammed her against the wall behind her with such force that it knocked the breath out of her.  
  
"The research journal. Now." He pinned her there, roughly. She wondered if she could somehow work her hands free-or she could scream. It was so quiet that someone was bound to hear. "Screaming won't do you any good. The guards cannot help you, Hermione."  
  
Pale and feeling slightly sick at being figured out so easily, Hermione only stared at him wordlessly. She couldn't believe this. He was her colleague, a friend, someone she ate lunch with, and someone she worked over the weekend with, not someone who attacked her.  
  
"Don't make me ask again," he warned, adjusting his grip so that his hands pressed insistently at her neck.  
  
Stubborn as hell, Hermione glared back. "I must've lost it," she growled. To her surprise, he let her go. She wobbled at the unexpected freedom. But it was short-lived. A hand shot out, backhanding her across the face, making her cry out.  
  
"Last chance."  
  
She remained silent. The second blow was harder, so hard that it made her teeth rattle and her lip split open. Without warning, her knees gave out sending her crashing to the ground. She felt blood ooze down her face and dribble onto the floor. Before she had a chance to recover, Marcus was digging through her bag.  
  
"I found it!" he bellowed loudly and Hermione would've smirked if it wouldn't hurt so much. He was so stealthy.  
  
What did he want her research journal for? All that was in there were charms that didn't work. Another man, this one hidden under a heavy cloak, came in from the side doorway which led to the common room.  
  
She didn't know what they wanted but she would rather destroy the journal than let these pricks walk away with it. Painfully, she slipped her hand into her pocket and grabbed her wand. Whispering the word incendio, Hermione was pleased to see the journal burst into instant flames and both men jumping away from it.   
  
Marcus looked at her with an evil glint in his eyes. She wondered why she had never noticed it before. It probably had something to do with the fact that he had hit her. "You really shouldn't have done that. Now we've got to take you."  
  
She tried to scramble away but the concealed man was already on top of her. Hermione took a deep breath and stared up into his eyes defiantly. Suddenly, they seemed to grow and surround her with blackness. They sucked her in. She fell into their depths, clutching the trailing edges of freedom as they slipped by.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Draco Malfoy stepped into the restaurant and, not bothering to listen to the flustered host, walked directly to the back.   
  
She was at her favorite table by the window. It was probably her favorite because the sun hit her just at the right angle there, shining on that perfectly flowing blonde hair. A smile slid smoothly across her face, but it didn't touch her eyes. She was, by all appearances, a stunning future trophy wife. But Draco knew better. Underneath, she was cunning, calculating and cold, capable of doing anything.  
  
Her perfectly manicured, blood red nails tapped against the table as he sat across from her. "There you are. I was beginning to worry about you," she commented. It would've been believable if it weren't for the complete lack of emotion.  
  
Draco smirked. "Were you, now?"  
  
"Not really." She shook her head slightly, sending her immaculately straight hair cascading around her shoulders. "But it makes me sound nicer if I say that."  
  
That was the Rayanne that he knew. She didn't care one bit about anyone but herself.  
  
"Since when have you given a damn about sounding nice?"  
  
Her posture was perfect. "Draco, you wound me." She tilted slightly forward and said very quietly, "We should stop coming here. We're surrounded by muggle-lovers today."  
  
The waiter, dressed in a pressed blue robe, appeared beside them before he had a chance to respond. Draco quickly waved him away.  
  
"You're not staying?" She raised a sculpted eyebrow.  
  
For a brief second, he entertained the idea of telling her the truth. He wanted to see that perfect façade falter as he told her that she was a vapid whore and that he'd rather snog a dementer than sit with her for a whole meal, but he held his tongue. "No, Damien asked me to meet with him." It wasn't a complete lie. He did have a meeting with her brother later that day.  
  
She nodded. "It probably has to do with what happened this morning."   
  
He leaned forward curiously.  
  
"You haven't heard? This morning we gained control of someone who creates charms for the Ministry."  
  
He absorbed that. "Why?"  
  
"I'm not sure. No doubt for some powerful charm. Damien wouldn't risk exposure this early for something that wasn't worth it. All I know is that he contacted Matthews about extracting the information."  
  
Draco kept his expression neutral even though inside he was worried.  
  
This was bad. This was very bad.  
  
He needed to contact Duff. "Well, my dear. Don't destroy too many lives today." He kissed her proffered hand with a sexy smile. "Sorry I couldn't stay."  
  
Rayanne licked her lips. "Make it up to me by coming over tonight." She batted her eyelashes. "We'll have... dessert." As she said the word, she fingered the edge of his cloak.  
  
"Sounds great but don't wait up." _

Rayanne looked toward her lap and pouted slightly, putting on a hurt air. Draco loved to torment her. Always used to getting her way, early on she had focused on getting him, and when she couldn't it became an obsession for her. He was the one thing she couldn't have and it drove her crazy. "You know how your brother can be," he added.  
  
And without another word, he turned and left the restaurant. Immediately upon reentering Diagon Alley, he went to the local owlry and scrawled a quick note to Duff outlining the little bit of information that he knew. Although the Minister of Magic was within walking distance in the Ministry building, they never met. In fact, Draco had never actually talked to the man. They corresponded solely through owls.  
  
Only after he saw the tawny owl fly off did he apparate to Damien's manor. The moment he stepped inside, he closed his eyes as the sweet power of the dark arts stole through him, and he once again was accosted by the sickening thought that he wasn't sure if he commanded it, or it commanded him. It was that rush that turned wizards to the dark arts. It became addictive.  
  
Walking to Damien's office, he mentally picked through his options. If the room where the researcher was being kept was unguarded, he could probably sneak him out without anyone being the wiser. But if the room was guarded, there was no way Draco was risking his own life for the poor sod. Sure, Draco was helping the Ministry... well, sort of, but that still didn't mean he worked for them. He only wanted to bring Damien down and Duff promised to help. So, if the room was guarded, he would just have to poison the researcher before he could reveal any information.  
  
Knocking on the ancient oak door, he heard a muffled grunt. He took a moment to harden himself and stepped inside. Damien Bradford sat at his oversized desk, looking more childlike than sinister. He was young, just a few years older than Draco, but he was a very powerful wizard with a cruel streak to match.  
  
"You saw Rayanne this morning, didn't you. That girl needs to learn to keep her mouth shut." He shook his head. "What can I do for you today, Draco?"  
  
Draco leaned against the doorjamb. "I heard you were calling Matthews in for an extraction, I was just wondering if I could go in and try first."  
  
"You always did like the dirty jobs, just like your father." Draco flinched at the mention of the man, but Damien seemed not to notice. "Go ahead, third floor, second room on the right."  
  
Once out of sight, Draco slipped to a back room and perused the shelves. He needed something that wouldn't be automatically assumed as being poisonous. Something common though, that anyone could have. He settled on a small blue vial containing nightshade and slipped it into his pocket before trotting up the stairs. As he turned the corner, he paused in front of a long, curving wall that displayed an extensive forest mural. Its branches waved in an intangible wind. He pretended to examine the painting as he peered down the hall out of the corner of his eye.   
  
There was a guard.  
  
The decision that loomed before him was distasteful, but it was not difficult. It looked like he would be using the poison after all.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *   
  
Hermione awoke with a start, shooting up into a sitting position with a gasp. Abruptly, her stomach clenched and she closed her eyes, trying to regain a measure of equilibrium.  
  
Everything hurt.  
  
For a second, she feared that when she opened her eyes, she would be back in her nightmare with Voldemort. But this time she knew that something even worse had happened. She was really living this one and this time she didn't have Harry or Ron to help her through.  
  
Carefully, she opened her eyes and blinked. She'd never so appreciated normal, single vision without twos and threes of everything.  
  
The room that she was in was a grand bedroom of some sort. Her heart began to pound incessantly as she looked around for an escape. She knew it was useless though. She could barely focus on not throwing up much less ways to escape her unknown captors without a wand.  
  
"Hullo?" she croaked to the empty room. It hurt to talk; each sound she made echoed through her brain, causing the throbbing in her head to worsen. Hermione had once read that humans had three bones in each ear. Now she knew it to be true. She could count them.  
  
She supposed she could try to stand up and walk around the room to look for a weapon but knew that she wouldn't get far. But the longer she sat there, the more terrified she got. Where was she? What was going to happen to her? The questions swarmed through her already muddled head, making it harder to think.  
  
But even panic has a way of wearing down and soon she felt so weary that she thought she might fall back asleep.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *   
  
The guard stood aside and let Draco turn the knob. "I don't think she's awake yet, though," the man said.  
  
Bloody hell. The researcher was a woman? "That's fine," he responded, and he stepped in through the doorway and pressed his forehead to the door until it clicked closed. He didn't think he could do this anymore. He couldn't kill an innocent woman, not after what happened with his mother--  
  
He had to. He had no choice. The information in this woman's mind was obviously very important and therefore dangerous in the wrong hands. She must be eliminated before she gave the information to the wrong people.  
  
Draco stood and wasted a full thirty seconds, denying the inevitable, before turning around.  
  
She was sitting on the bed with her back against the headboard, curled up in a ball with her knees drawn up toward her chest and her arms wrapped around them. Her face was down-turned, her chin against her collarbone, as though she were sleeping--or hiding.  
  
Taking a deep breath, he slipped the poison out from his pocket and crossed to the huge, four-poster bed. He nudged her but she didn't respond. Cautiously, he moved her head back so that he could have access to her mouth. Without consciously meaning to, he was careful not to look at her face, only her mouth. It was easier not to think of her as a person.  
  
It wasn't until he was unscrewing the bottle that she spoke.  
  
"Draco?" Her voice was cracked and weak but he understood her perfectly.   
  
He looked down into the woman's face, looking past the bruises and dried blood.  
  
His eyes opened wide in shock.  
  
"Granger?"  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
TBC...  
  



	3. Intangible

**TITLE:** Safety in the Storm Chapter Three

**AUTHOR:** Jennie  
**DISCLAIMER:** Refer to chapter one.  
**RATING:** R  
**PAIRING:** Draco/Hermione

**AUTHOR NOTE:** Sorry it took me so long to get this part out. I wrote the first half, got fed up with the direction it was going, scrapped it, and rewrote it. Ugh.  
  
_Chapter Three_  
   
_'Tis strange - but true; for truth is always strange; Stranger than fiction._

_--Lord Byron_

_Intangible  
_  
No way.  
  
No fucking way.  
  
He held Hermione Granger in his arms; he held her life in his hands.  
  
To him she had always represented everything he could never have, everything he could never be. She was the kind of girl he had never quite understood and because of this, had never forgotten. He remembered seeing her once at the beginning of their many years together at Hogwarts: hair in disarray, walking down the corridor, laughing with her friends, innocent chocolate eyes viewing the world with their optimistic sincerity. She had looked at him with only a passing glance, and his stomach had churned in disgust for her naiveté, but only because her eyes had seemed to belong in a different world, one that he was not, and could not, be a part of.  
  
And throughout the following years at school, he had secretly wondered what marvels she knew that he didn't, where that intangible warmth in her sparkling eyes came from and why he had never seemed to be able to grasp it.  
  
Looking into her bright eyes now, he was surprised to find that same childlike innocence peering up at him and he knew in that instant that he wouldn't be able to smother it. It would almost be akin to killing the hope that dwelt back in the deep recesses of his mind that he might one day learn her secret.  
  
Even covered in gradually forming bruises, she seemed hopeful and. trusting. Not at all tortured with dark thoughts of murder or revenge as he was. It didn't seem fair. He had always been tortured by something. He had forgotten what it felt like to be carefree. Sometimes, in between rude barbs, Draco would find himself watching her, in potions class, while eating dinner, at the occasional Hogsmeade visit, it didn't matter. No matter where she was, she always found some new tidbit of information to happily store away, a new book to delve into, or another reason to smile. Watching her made him think maybe it wasn't something that plagued him but perhaps a _lack_ of something. Years later, he would think back and find himself silently craving her and that little something that she embodied for him. Because he could. Because never in a million years would their paths cross again.  
  
Boy, was he wrong.  
  
"Draco?" she questioned again, her voice clearer but still scratchy as though she hadn't used it in years. It was then that he realized she had called him by his first name, not by his surname as she had always done so in the past.  
  
And she remembered him.  
  
Not that he cared, of course.  
  
Without even realizing what he was doing, he slipped the miniscule vial of nightshade back into his pocket and pulled out his wand.  
  
It had been a long time, longer than he cared to admit, since he had had the need to use a healing spell and he hoped he remembered enough to help her.  
  
Help her?  
  
The thought shocked him. How long had it been since he had helped someone besides himself? But a little nagging voice in the back of his mind knew exactly why he was helping her and would not cease reminding him. She was Hermione Granger, the girl he loved to hate.  
  
His wand lightly touched her cheek and he watched with detached curiosity as the purple bruises faded to little more than smudged shadows. In a matter of seconds, her face was healed and he took a step back.  
  
She sat up with a bit of difficulty and moved her face experimentally.  
  
"Come on. I'm getting you out of here," he said, his voice sounding almost gentle, soothing. It seemed foreign to him.  
  
Hermione blinked up at him through cloudy eyes and he realized that while he had been able to fix all the superficial injuries, she was still hurting on the inside. Typical. He had no idea what he could do to cure her completely.  
  
A cough sounded from the hallway and Draco was reminded of their precarious position. "Come on," he repeated and held out a desperate hand. "We're running out of time."  
  
Hermione nodded mutely and looked like a small, frightened child in need of assurance. But she took his hand willingly enough. He was elated that she trusted him. He hardly trusted himself sometimes.  
  
He had to think quickly.  
  
Just then, his rational side decided to kick in and he hesitated.  
  
What the hell was he doing? Was he really willing to risk two years worth of work, of planning, of subterfuge to save her life?  
  
That nagging little voice, although it didn't seem so miniscule anymore, was back with a resounding yes.  
  
She was clinging onto his hand now as if it were a lifeline. and, well, technically speaking, it was. Gripping his wand tightly, he knew that all he had to do was make it down the stairs and then he could apparate. He closed his eyes, he took a few cleansing breaths. He was risking everything, including his life, for someone he hardly knew. Sure, he had seen her practically every day for seven years but they had verbally sparred and argued more than anything. Knowing how to push someone's buttons didn't necessarily mean that you knew them.  
  
She shifted beside him and moaned softly in pain. Glancing down, he saw that she was favoring her left leg.  
  
Suddenly, Draco felt a slight tug somewhere in his chest. It was a small pang of disenchantment at the crumbling of what had probably been a perfect life. She was most likely married (to Potter or Weasley, no doubt) with children nipping at her heels... or whatever children tended to do. He was envious. Not of the married and kids part but because he'd never had the perfect life. He had been fighting an uphill battle since he was a small child. In a strange way seeing her like this hurt him. The thought that a person could be as lucky as she was in having the perfect life had sustained him through many hard times back in school. But he should have known better. Optimism wasn't one of his strong suits and he was surprised it had prevailed in that case, because he now knew that in this world pain was inevitable.  
  
She must've been brimming with questions. Why was he there? Why was he helping her? Why was he standing there staring at the door like a fucking pansy? But she didn't give voice to them, just kept hold of his hand, which was fast loosing feeling, and rubbed weakly at her eyes.  
  
It was now or never.  
  
He opened the door.  
  
The beady-eyed guard in the hallway (Draco couldn't, for the life of him, remember his name) swiveled around, mid-step to face them. Draco watched his eyes widen in realization but it was too late. Draco had already been muttering the words and he watched as the memory charm seemed to arrest the man in mid-motion.  
  
Praying to a deity he did not believe in, he pressed on and hesitantly glanced down the elaborate staircase. The coast was clear. A whimper sounded from behind him and he looked over at Hermione, surprised. He had almost forgotten she was there. Her eyes were saucers as she looked down at her leg.  
  
"I can't--" Her head shook and a single tear slipped down her face.  
  
He was such a fucking softie. Pulling her next to him, he slid his left arm around her to help take the weight off her leg.  
  
"We just need to make it down the stairs."  
  
She nodded again and they cautiously began the decent. "I--thank you," she whispered so softly he almost didn't catch it. "I don't know why you're here or why you're helping me but thank you." Her eyes looked tired and she stumbled.  
  
Not knowing how to answer, he simply held her tighter. Surprisingly, they made it to the bottom without incident and, taking one last look around, Draco apparated them to the only place he could possibly go.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
It was an odd feeling, waking up to unfamiliar sounds and smells, vivid dreams and memories hovering just beyond her awareness. She sat up, feeling a wave of exhaustion crest over her, and squinted at her darkened surroundings as she waited for everything to come crashing painfully back to her. To her surprise (and confusion), it began to come back slowly, like moonlight through the misty edge of a cloud.  
  
Marcus, the bloody betraying bastard... her research journal... only now did she cringe at the thought of all that hard work destroyed... that elegant yet terrifying bedroom that made her sick to think about... she had given up there, waiting for whatever horrors was in store for her... and Draco Malfoy.  
  
A face from her past.  
  
The boy whose name could instantly have Ron and Harry (and she had to admit herself as well) sputtering in indignation. To most who knew him in school, he had been the devil incarnate with his icy glare, biting insults and chilling good looks. Proudly, Draco Malfoy had been the cause of many young and innocent girls' corruption.  
  
Yet in her hour of need he appeared out of nowhere, hardly said a word, and took her by the hand and led her to safety like a guardian angel. Okay, well maybe not an angel per say, but definitely a person she would now be in debt to... no matter how many shivers that thought produced.  
  
He had saved her life.  
  
The thought kind of made her nauseous.  
  
Gingerly, she threw back the thick layer of old quilts and padded in her socks across the hardwood floor to the door. When he had apparated them, Hermione really hadn't paid too much attention to her surroundings. Between bouts of dizziness and struggle to keep her eyes open, she hadn't seen anything but the makeshift bed he pointed out to her. It was really no more than an old mattress dumped unceremoniously on the floor with some rather threadbare quilts but to her it had looked and felt like heaven.  
  
Now, she creaked open the worn door and snuck a glance around. Instead of looking into a hallway though, she realized that the door opened straight into a yawning living room. It was sparse and with the high, vaulted ceiling and bare walls, one would think it might be empty or impersonal but Hermione instantly spotted the history that was immersed in the room. Every indentation and score in the yellowing walls, each tattered piece of furniture had a story making the room astonishingly homey. Although, in the back of her mind she thought that her reaction probably would have been much different if this place didn't represent a type of sanctuary for her.  
  
As she stepped further into the room, the flames in the stone fire place flickered in the fading light of the afternoon, casting an eerie glow over the room, the shadows making strange patterns on the back of the fireplace and the walls around her. Hermione found herself being careful not to make a sound. It seemed so still, so serene; she was afraid to ruin it.  
  
And then she spotted him. The bane of her adolescent existence, the boy who tormented her mercilessly. The man who saved her life. A walking contradiction.  
  
He was sprawled out on the slightly worn couch, heavily breathing in a deep sleep. Unable to help herself, she found she was moving closer to study his slumbering face-- chiseled bones, arresting lips, platinum strands of flaxen hair messily framing his face, and impossibly long eyelashes resting on his aristocratic cheeks. He had indeed grown into a very attractive man. a paragon of good looks. He appeared so harmless, so innocent as he lay there. It was disquieting, to say the least.  
  
Dragging herself away, she continued to explore the tiny cabin. Around the corner she found a bare kitchen no bigger than the one in her own house (which just went to show how small it actually was) and a tiny alcove straight ahead set up as a dining area. Or maybe it should be called a breakfast nook. It really wasn't any larger than a few feet, nestled between floor to ceiling windows. But what really got her attention was the porch beyond it. Though she could see the dampness, it was no longer raining, giving her an amazing view of dense birch and oak trees, dripping still from the torrent they had received. It was beautiful.  
  
*****  
  
He awoke with a start, jolting up into a sitting position, heart racing, head throbbing and wand pointing out ahead of him. Except, as he squinted, he realized it was pointed at nothing. Just a ghost in the dark, a remnant of some already forgotten nightmare. The fire was almost out now, only down to the softly glowing embers at the bottom, and he realized his quick nap had ended up lasting a couple of hours. Wearily, he ran his hand through his hair a few times and then stretched his aching back.  
  
That couch hadn't gotten any more comfortable over the years.  
  
And then he saw that her door was open, the bed unmade, the room empty.  
  
She was awake.  
  
The notion was petrifying. For a moment, he was irrationally tempted to lock himself in the bathroom and never come out. It was so unlike him. She had been so trusting, so unconcerned with his motives. But now, without the urgency that imminent danger brought, the questions would start. Questions that he wasn't prepared to answer.  
  
Yet his curiosity got the better of him and he snuck a peek into the kitchen. It was empty. Draco stepped noiselessly into the darkening kitchenette. He could see her form on the porch, a dark silhouette against the dying sunset which flashed on the trees, her arms wrapped around herself. He felt the corners of his mouth begin to turn up as he saw her slightly bounce on the balls of her feet in a vain attempt to warm herself up. Carefully, he backtracked to the couch and grabbed one of the discarded quilts before making his way toward her as quietly as he could. As he slipped through the open door, he found himself stopping inches behind her. Inhaling the faint, sweet scent of her hair, of her, his hand grazed across it feather light; she did not even feel him.  
  
*****  
  
She sensed a presence behind her before she heard the hushed shuffle of feet. She closed her eyes. She didn't want to see him, didn't want to talk to him. She was perfectly happy living in her nice world where there were clear-cut lines between good and evil.  
  
She knew with a doomed certainty that Draco was about to shatter that illusion into a million shards.  
  
But if this confrontation was bound to happen (and the only way out that she could think of was to leap over the railing and run into the forest like a madwoman. it was a shame she left her shoes in the other room), she was determined to have the upper hand. After a moment, she turned and greeted Draco soberly, her face, what she hoped was a carefully controlled mask.  
  
He hadn't changed much; his air of confidence still made her nerves go haywire. Silently, he offered her a blanket and she took it. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, to break the silence, but nothing came out. Frowning, she noticed him smirk.  
  
"You know, you could start by saying thank you." His voice was imperturbable and nonchalant. Immediately, she felt her certitude slipping and she desperately tried to keep a hold of it.  
  
A biting, sarcastic barb was on the tip of her tongue but Hermione thought better of it. Instead, she simply looked him solidly in the eye and spoke clearly. "Thank you."  
  
Draco arched an eyebrow at her and she felt the familiar flush of warmth rush up her neck to her face. Her momentarily ironclad confidence was failing her miserably.  
  
"You know," she managed to stammer before once again steeling herself. "If you had wanted to have an impromptu reunion, an owl would have sufficed quite well. You needn't have sent a thug to kidnap me." She instantly rued having said something so confrontational.  
  
She heard him chuckle, and realized it was of a different texture and timbre than the one that had tormented her so many years before. Now it seemed chilled, almost as if he'd seen darkness and barely escaped its clutches. Once again, she felt guilty for making light of a situation that he HAD to be uncomfortable in, despite his calm appearance. He ran a hand through his already fairly messy hair almost nervously. Was it the fact that he wasn't used to playing the part of the hero? Or was there more to it? Did he just happen to be in the right place at the right time? Had he even WANTED to help her? He stopped his chortling and turned to lean against the doorframe, his eyes still unreadable.  
  
He cleared his throat and she looked down at her feet uncomfortably. "And here I thought the thug was a nice touch," he replied in a deep, rich voice. "But it makes me wonder, where was your precious Potter? Why wasn't he there to rescue you from the big bad man?" She looked up at him, squinting in the growing darkness. Although his words were biting, she could see a sparkle in his eyes.  
  
Smiling, she sucked in a breath of surprise at his sarcastic reply, suddenly feeling warm. He was fighting back. She might be afraid to see Draco the compassionate hero, but Draco the bastard who always went too far was someone she could handle with no problem.  
  
"Of course you would think the thug was a good idea; you are a Malfoy, after all."  
  
There was a flash of something in his eyes and they narrowed slightly. Was it pain? Anger?  
  
Hermione decided to change the subject. "Where are we?" she asked, turning her back on him to stare out at the glistening bark of the birch trees in the moonlight. Draco slid up next to her, mimicking her actions by leaning against the wooden railing.  
  
Glancing over at him, she was surprised to see a dimple flicker briefly in his cheek before he answered thoughtfully. Funny, she had never noticed it before. "Ireland... northwest part of Donegal. We're actually pretty close to Glenveagh Park." He trailed off and traced a finger along one of the wooden beams supporting the slotted roof above them. "This cabin belonged to my mother."  
  
Hermione nodded then shook her head in disbelief. If someone had told her twenty-four hours before that she would be in Ireland, in a secluded cabin, having a fairly decent conversation with the man who Ron had dubbed 'Satan Spawn,' she would've sent that person to St. Mungo's. It had been an odd day.  
  
*****  
  
She was breathtaking. Standing there, hair flowing gently in the breeze, innocent eyes bright and sparkling in the strengthening moonlight, she reminded him of an innocent time of his own, when he was eight, playing in the woods outside of his grandmother's house.  
  
It was a sweltering day; he had just dried off from a dip in the mere in the woods. It was in a secluded meadow overhung by enormous oaks whose branches swayed gently in the breeze, making the sunlight dance along the leaves on the ground. As he was walking back, a soft, musical giggle emanating from somewhere off to his left distracted him from his trek. Without thinking, he turned and followed the carefree laugh and was intrigued to catch a brief glimpse of white luminescence through the trees.  
  
Ducking from alder to oak, barefoot and shirtless, he almost tripped as she came into view.  
  
A fairy.  
  
At least he thought she was. He had always thought that they were smaller, though. He had never seen one before and found that he was frozen in awe over the little creature's beauty. She stood a little bit shorter than he was, flitting around on glittery, translucent wings that held him enchanted. He wanted to touch them, run his fingers down the silvery lengths.  
  
"What's your name?" she asked in a small voice.  
  
He jumped and looked at her suspiciously. His father had taught him that fairies were too stupid to have mastered human speech.  
  
"Draco," he said slowly, scowling. He didn't like it when he was wrong about something. An overwhelming urge came over him. He wanted to feel her innocent delicacy, wanted to see if it was tangible. "Can I touch you?" he asked, taking another step forward.  
  
Her hovering became slightly erratic and then she disappeared behind a tree in a flash.  
  
"I don't know," she squeaked. "I've never been touched by a human."  
  
"Will you let me try?"  
  
The fairy girl giggled again and came out of hiding to land on a fallen, moss-covered tree branch. Her warm, blueish-white incandescence was alluring and his fingers stretched out of their own accordance.  
  
"Okay," she tittered nervously.  
  
Leaning forward, he extended out his splayed fingers.  
  
He was so close.  
  
He wondered if she would feel as wispy as she looked.  
  
Almost--  
  
"Draco!" At the sudden sound of his grandmother's voice, the girl gave a shriek and was gone in a blink.  
  
Dismayed, Draco turned around glaring but once he saw his grandmother's warm and affectionate gaze the glare melted away. She bent down and tenderly pulled him into her arms.  
  
"Nanna, did you see the fairy?" he asked, pointing to the spot where she disappeared.  
  
"Ah," she said in her soothing voice. "I wondered what was taking you so long. You must've met Seraphima. Her curiosity always seems to get the best of her." She pulled away and looked at him pointedly. "Just like a curious, little grandson of mine. But actually, she's not a fairy. She's a nymph."  
  
His nanna stood up and began to steer him back to her house.  
  
Draco looked up at her. Should he tell her?  
  
"She almost let me touch her."  
  
His grandmother stopped mid-stride. "Oh, honey," she breathed, squatting down to be level with him. "We can't touch nymphs... they're too pure... it hurts them."  
  
Nodding, he glanced back into the woods to find Seraphima waving a small hand. He grinned sadly and waved back. For some reason he couldn't define, it hurt him to know that he could only stand back and observe something so magical... so, as his nanna had put it, pure.  
  
It had been the last time he had ever seen a nymph.  
  
Yet now, watching Hermione tilt her head back, close her eyes and take a deep breath of the damp forest air, he was brought back to that moment and his chest ached. In his mind, Hermione was the same as the nymph. She was pure and innocent and one touch from him would corrupt her. hurt her.  
  
Standing right next to him in the dim glow of the eerily blue moon above, she didn't seem real; she was an intangible warmth. She filled him with a sense of wonder that he hadn't experienced since that day with the nymph. He felt vulnerable, open to her emotions in the secluded privacy of this familiar place which at one time he had hated, but had now turned into an unexpected refuge. Maybe it was just the moment, or maybe it was just impulse, but for that second, something inside of him cracked slightly and he wanted nothing more than one thing. To touch her.  
  
But Draco had always prided himself on his self-control, so he simply averted his eyes. Unfortunately, he must've been a little out of whack that day because he only lasted a few moments before he heard her sigh heavily and he turned back.  
  
She was facing slightly away from him, giving him only a view of her in the shadows. He noticed though that while she still had a childlike appearance, now that her thoughts were unguarded, he saw a ghost of darkness, a haunted expression flicker briefly through her eyes. Its sudden appearance sent an unfamiliar tremor through him and without a moment's hesitation, he clasped her hand in his.  
  
So much for bloody self-control.  
  
But to his immense relief and utter amazement, she did not protest, did not pull away, only squeezed his fingers softly in return, her gaze remaining on the moon above.  
  
They stayed that way for a while, long enough for Draco to forget the life, the revenge he'd walked away from hours before. But when she withdrew her hand from his, it all came crashing back down upon him.  
  
"Why?" The word was uttered so quietly he almost didn't hear it.  
  
But almost didn't count.  
  
Slowly, he turned away from her, the excuses sticking unsaid in his throat.  
  
"Because it was you..." He wasn't sure if she heard him, which was just as well, so he let the sentence hang unfinished in the air between them. She remained silent.  
  
Finally, he could take it no longer and looked at her.  
  
"I think I'm going to go back to sleep." Hermione straightened up and slipped the quilt from around her shoulders. She opened her mouth as if to add something, but nothing came out. Instead she stepped forward, her lips landing on his with a light, fluttery nymph touch; soft, warm, quick. and then she disappeared like the nymph had so long before.  
  
Stunned, he could do nothing but watch as she vanished into the shadows, making her way back to the old mattress in the back.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
TBC...  
  
Big thanks to everyone who reviewed. It means the world to me :)__


	4. Welcome to Deluded

**Safety in the Storm Chapter Four**  
  
_She__ walks in Beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellowed to that tender light Which Heaven to gaudy day denies._

_ --Lord Byron "She Walks in Beauty"  
_  
_Welcome to Deluded_  
  
The walk from the porch to the bedroom was a shadow-shrouded blur. Only when the door was shut between them did her actions--her thoughts--come into painfully sharp focus.  
  
Hermione collapsed against the door under the weight of her shock, completely stunned and amazed at herself. Surprised at the rate her heart was racing, she brought her fingertips hesitantly to her lips, touching them as if to make sure she had really done that.  
  
She had kissed Draco Malfoy.  
  
Of course, she hadn't intended to. It had been his eyes that were her undoing. One minute they were cold, hard steel and the next, a violent storm of emotions. She had gotten a rare peek at him, the real him, and her breath had caught in her throat.  
  
Saying thank you, she realized, wasn't enough. The turmoil in his eyes, the self-loathing, proved that saving her had changed his life somehow. How could a mere two words convey the immense gratitude she felt? So instead, she stepped forward, inches away from him, fully intending to simply peck him on the cheek, but something had happened.  
  
Maybe it was the way he smelled of tangy sweat and allspice, an alluring scent so unfamiliar to her. Harry seemed to constantly smell like fresh rain while Ron had a musky odor to him. Both were calming due to the familiarity of them. Draco, on the other hand, was new, exotic and enticing. It had made her dizzy and she had gasped for breath.  
  
Or it could have been the way his tongue had chosen that exact moment to dart out to moisten his lips.  
  
Either way, all thought had been driven from her mind and she forgot who was standing before her, content with the smell of him... the way his breath tickled her nose, and those intense and surprisingly warm eyes looking down at her. She bypassed his cheek and landed ethereally on his newly moistened lips.  
  
He hadn't moved, hadn't pushed her away and for one fleeting moment, she thought he might even have responded, but then she remembered that this wasn't some random, knee-weakening hero.  
  
This was Draco Malfoy.  
  
The boy good girls were never supposed to kiss.  
  
Groaning, she slid to the floor. It was official. She was certifiably insane. Either that or a glutton for punishment. Neither one was very appealing.  
  
But she couldn't help replaying the moment over in her mind, unwillingly analyzing her actions, her emotions. She had to admit, she had felt a surge of heat that flowed into her the moment their lips had touched. Damn hormones.  
  
Sighing loudly, Hermione banged her head back against the door desperate to get her mind on more practical things. Like how Harry was probably worried sick about her or how she was going to have to redo all that work she lost when she had incinerated her journal. Anything but on the man in the other room.  
  
Her mind obviously did not care one bit what she wanted though because she was again plagued by images of his tongue running over his lips and then over hers as he pulled her body tightly to his, melding them together, saturating them in a heat so--  
  
Cor blimey, now she was fantasizing about him. She now was suffering from a sexual awareness of the man who tortured her adolescent years for the sheer, twisted pleasure of it.  
  
Bloody hell.  
  
But she had no one to blame but herself. This was what happened when life became hectic and sex became little more than a distant memory. All of a sudden, little things which would have driven her mad before, became irresistibly edible. She groaned as she pictured his sexy blue-gray eyes, his totally kissable lips, and his hands that could cause orgasms just by looking the way they did.  
  
Oh, for the love of Quidditch. Someone please put her out of her misery before it got any worse. Time for bed. Time to forget about--well, everything.  
  
As she practically crawled to the mattress, Hermione was stunned to feel the dryness of her mouth. Shivering, she attempted to ignore the tiny tremors running through her body and tried to convince herself that it was nothing.  
  
The mattress wasn't as comfortable as it had been before and she found herself restlessly changing positions every few seconds. She was disgusted with the images that continued to barrage her mind and was even more disgusted with herself for liking them. She couldn't believe that her overactive imagination was already producing such vivid fantasies-  
  
In frustration, she kicked her feet violently and shoved the pillow tightly over her face, barely suppressing the urge to scream. She needed to forget. Needed to now, before she faced him again tomorrow morning.  
  
But it was no use and she knew it. She felt the cold shiver of need flow through her body and she clutched tightly to the blankets.  
  
The seed had already been planted.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
She kissed me.  
  
SHE kissed ME.  
  
The words echoed in his mind as he stood there frozen. But soon the shock wore off and was replaced by an intense anger.  
  
Who the hell was she to make him lose his breath? She was a nobody. Sure, she was pure and good and noble and all those things he had admired her for, but who was she, to come into his life and make him feel?  
  
The questions burned in his mind as he stalked from one side of the small porch to the other. He knew he must have looked ridiculous taking two strides to one side simply to turn to go to the other, but he was too busy fuming to care. Draco was not new to the game; he had recognized the emotions in her eyes, the expression on her face. He had seen it many times before.  
  
She wanted him.  
  
And that terrified him.  
  
Instead of taking advantage of the situation as he normally have would, he froze up as an unfamiliar shiver coursed through him, giving him a feeling that he was at her mercy.  
  
Draco was not used to being at anyone's mercy.  
  
He was rightfully accustomed to getting what he wanted which was perhaps why she intimidated him so. Because he had the vague notion that anything she wanted, he would give to her.  
  
The sound of flapping wings could be heard above him and Draco peered into the darkness, grateful for a distraction. The regal looking condor landed on the rail in front of him, puffing his chest out as his narrow eyes looked Draco over.  
  
Personally, the ugly condor had always given him the heebie-jeebies but that was the Yanks for you. Always have to be different.  
  
As he removed the scroll, the condor flapped his wings impatiently, hitting Draco's head a few times in the process.  
  
He glared menacingly at him, not caring that he was a bird, not a person. "You do that again Toploftical and I will be eating you for a midnight snack. I'm sure you taste just like chicken."  
  
He barely had hold of the letter before Toplo sprung into the air. He hoped Jonathan wouldn't be requiring a response tonight.  
  
Unrolling the note, he was surprised to find the familiar handwriting forming a letter that was fairly short and concise. Well, short and concise in the world of Jonathan Pierce. He was well known for his infamously long letters.  
  
To the-man-who's-intelligence-is-in-question,  
  
Boss man wrote me about your predicament to see if I could stop you from killing the poor girl but by the time I got to Damien's and saw the confusion and havoc you caused, I realized you had chosen one hell of a time to develop a conscience. To steal one of your favorite phrases, YOU BLOODY GIT! I think I may have salvaged your cover, though God knows you deserve to be found out for making such a rash decision without finding me first. May he curse your first-born son with impotency. or at least stupidity. See that? I'm too soft to even wish a proper hex on you.  
  
Draco snorted in disbelief but continued reading.  
  
I told Damien that the girl could have easily stolen your wand (despite all your delusions of grandeur, you aren't as kick ass as you would like to believe), put an obliviate charm on Tierney (which is surprisingly strong, by the way. Of course, I broke it in twenty minutes but no one needs to know that) and took off with you in hot pursuit.  
  
Who knows if he actually believes me. If you're as predictable as I think you are, then I'll be seeing you in a day or so. Damien is sending me on a brief trip to the US but afterwards I'll help you sort all this out. Knowing you, you haven't a clue what to do.  
  
Just don't do anything stupider.  
  
--Jonathan  
  
As much as he hadn't wanted to bring his quote unquote friend into this fiasco, he was glad that help was on the way. If he had to be alone with Granger much longer, he would do something he immensely regretted.  
  
With a wave of his wand and a whispered spell, the note burst into flames and the ash was carried off into the breeze.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Harry walked into the research corridor of the ministry with what he hoped was an intimidating demeanor. For the past hour and a half since he had been contacted about Hermione's disappearance, he had been given nothing but the run-around. The aurors would tell him nothing except that Hermione had been nabbed from her office early that morning.  
  
Knowing full well that no one in the room up ahead would be pleased to see him, he took a preparatory breath and stalked up to the person on guard. The kid was young, no doubt fresh from the academy and was obviously trying to put up an unaffected air about him. Harry felt guilty and a bit nervous for what he was about to do, but he had no choice.  
  
"Excuse me sir, but this area is sealed off to the public," the boy said as Harry tried to pass him. Turning, he glared at the kid.  
  
"I am not the public," Harry said as menacingly as he could muster. "I am Harry Potter and my best friend is the woman who is missing. You _will let me through." He was proud of himself. His voice didn't rise once but became dark, edged in ice. The kid darted his eyes around nervously and took a step back.  
  
"S-sorry, sir. Um, go ahead."  
  
Harry stormed past him with a nod, trying not to let his sigh of relief be heard. Without hesitation, he turned the corner and stepped into the chaos that was a crime scene.  
  
Her office was a mess.  
  
Papers from her in-baskets were scattered across the desk. Her chair was tipped over and ink splatters and streaks covered the walls as if someone in an angry fit threw the bottles against the off-white walls. Her worktable, usually impeccably neat, was a messy jumble of scattered papers and potions.  
  
Harry got the impression that if Hermione saw this place like this, she would hyperventilate.  
  
Even the photos on the walls, which progressively showed Hermione, Ron and himself through the years of their friendship hadn't gone untouched. Those that were still attached to the wall were now hung crookedly as if the person who had done it could not stand to see anything neatly in its place.  
  
He was numb. He could only stare in detached horror at the sight.  
  
And then he began to feel. Pain, mind numbing, shocking pain assaulted him as he stared at a photo of the three of them smiling and hugging. It had been taken the year before at Harry's twenty-sixth birthday party. He had known something was up instantly. They both had been trying to avoid him all day which meant, of course, that they had a secret. Hermione was like an open book; he could always tell exactly what she was thinking. And Ron, well, Ron never COULD keep a secret, so he knew that they were doing something utterly ridiculous to celebrate.  
  
The surprise party had been huge with everyone from Dumbledore to Harry's ex-girlfriend, Sarah, in attendance. The picture showed Ron giving him a brotherly hug and pat on the back and then Hermione was squeezing him so tightly that he remembered feeling as though he might pop beneath her loving embrace.  
  
She hadn't even been missing more than a few hours and yet he ached for her. Needed her close to him.  
  
"Potter, you're not supposed to be here," a gruff voice said from off to the right. The auror who voiced it was kneeling on the ground glaring at him through familiarly guarded eyes. He had hoped he wouldn't have to directly deal with Blaise Zabini today, but he supposed it was his luck. The man beside Blaise didn't even flinch, simply continuing to mutter unintelligible words and hand his wand pointing at a few dark splotches on the floor.  
  
Oh, good God. It looked like blood. Harry felt the blood rush from his head.  
  
"Did you really expect me to stay at home, waiting?" he asked, eyes not straying from the horrific scene below him.  
  
Blaise rolled his eyes and stood up, dusting off his robes. "No, that was obviously asking too much. Look, I know you are hurting but you being here is doing nothing to help." He was standing too close to Harry, his peppermint breath puffing right in his face. It added to the intimidating feeling the man's domineering size invoked in Harry and he wondered if it was calculated to do just that.  
  
"No!" The vehemence with which the word was launched was part passion and part fear. Much to his credit, Blaise revealed no visible reaction. The man on the floor, though, dropped his wand with a clatter while others turned to look at him.  
  
Blaise sighed and rubbed his eyes with a grimace. "I'm not going to delude myself into thinking that, if I have you escorted out of here, you won't try to butt your way in some other way and will no doubt get yourself or Ms. Granger killed."  
  
Speechless, Harry blinked at him. If nothing else, Blaise was correct. He sucked in a hopeful breath. "Does this mean you're going to tell me what's going on?"  
  
Blaise snorted and ushered Harry back out the door and into the next office. "I will tell you as much as I am permitted to. Don't get me wrong, Potter. I do not like you. I'm doing this because you had the potential to be a great auror and I would rather have you helping me than going behind my back." He held a parchment pad in one hand which he looked down at, obviously consulting it for the details of the case. Blaise looked up at him and scanned him intently for a moment as if judging Harry's emotional stability.  
  
Harry waved a hand in annoyance. "I'm fine. Just tell me what happened to her."  
  
Nodding, Blaise gestured for him to sit. He complied and looked up expectantly.  
  
"The nearest we can discern is that Ms. Granger has been experimenting on perfecting a long lasting energy charm. Do you know anything about this?"  
  
He shook his head. "No, she doesn't really talk about work with me."  
  
The other man nodded and Harry wondered why he had bothered asking. He had already answered all their questions earlier and he would bet his broom that Blaise had the entire interview recorded in that parchment pad of his.  
  
"As far as we know, yesterday she tested a charm on a man named Marcus Hess and sent him to the infirmary. It is believed that she was taken for details regarding that charm."  
  
"How do you know that? If you know that, then you must have a pretty good idea who's behind this."  
  
"We know because Hess entered this building with an unidentified man this morning exactly twenty minutes before Ms. Granger entered with her password through the north 4e door. Hess stupefied all the guards in this building and went upstairs to the research sector. We searched the entire building and Granger's is the only office that is ransacked. We can't find any sort of reference to her work, either in the office or in the papers scattered by her bag. And then we found this."  
  
Blaise pulled a small satchel out of his pocket and loosened the drawstring so Harry could look inside. At first, he had no idea what he was looking at but then the odor of soot and ash wafted up to him. It was a smell he had grown much accustomed to, having spent the majority of his adolescence next to a roaring fire, yet now it was nauseating. In the pit of his stomach, he could feel the wrongness, like a sickness.  
  
"There is no physical or magical way of finding out what was once on these pages and I think that Marcus Hess knew that and took Ms. Granger instead."  
  
Harry sat in a contemplative silence. Before him was a puzzle, a problem to be solved; yet... it didn't fit properly. He couldn't tell whether he was missing pieces of the puzzle, or if he was using the wrong pieces altogether. All he knew was that it didn't fit. And then it dawned on him.  
  
"There's someone else, isn't there. Someone who Hess is working for." The moment he saw the flicker of nervousness in Blaise's eyes, he knew it was true, no matter how much the other man would try to deny it.  
  
Blaise must've known this because he sighed and sat down on the edge of the desk. "This has nothing to do with silly school rivalries or personal disagreements, but I can't answer that. This goes way above both of our heads."  
  
Harry felt his eyes widen and his breathing become shallow.  
  
"Cor, this war's not over yet, is it. There's another big bad in town and he has you guys running scared. Is it another rise of deatheaters?" He looked up at the ceiling, thoughts and images swirling in his mind making a jumbled mess. "If I had known-" He shook his head sharply. "I want to help."  
  
Blaise seemed taken aback. "Help? As in becoming an auror, becoming one of us? Or are you still looking for all the glory. the aurors are still not your own personal army to order around. I don't care who you are or what you've done-"  
  
Harry cut him off. What happened in the past, happened. And in the past, Harry wished it would stay. Besides, Blaise knew what was going on. If he wanted to get Hermione back, he needed more information. "I want to be an auror. I want to work with you."  
  
"Okay," Blaise said cautiously, offering a hand. As Harry shook it firmly, before he lost his nerve and backed down, Blaise grinned wryly. "But I'm still not telling you anything."  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
The morning came without any painful repercussions, without the need to squint and, most importantly, without aches. It was just a normal morning. Hermione was more awake then she had been in a long time. A sunny yellow light cut through the crack in the tattered curtains and slashed its mark across the bleached pine floor. She watched particles of dust floating lazily in the beam... then let out a sigh as her stomach twinged.  
  
How long had it been since she'd last eaten? How come she hadn't noticed it before?  
  
But, as much as her stomach was protesting, she felt disgustingly filthy. Sure, Draco had magiked her and her clothes clean of dirt or blood (she tried to ignore the chills she got when she thought of how the blood had gotten there) but she still felt grimy and defiled and she desperately ached to be clean again.  
  
Straightening her clothes and smoothing out her hair, she mentally made a checklist of priorities for the morning. First, she needed a shower. After that, food and a nice, soothing, life-preserving cup of coffee. Her eyes widened as she realized that more likely than not, Draco would never have even heard of coffee much less have a coffee maker. If worst came to worst, she could always try summoning some which could end up being potentially dangerous. The last thing she needed was to have hot coffee come flying at her again. A few months before, Harry had gone on a anti- caffeine kick and thrown out all the coffee grounds in the house to help Hermione be rid of her addiction. Out of desperation, she had summoned some and had gotten second-degree burns for her trouble.  
  
Or she could try transfiguring water but even then she was hesitant. It always looked like coffee, even smelled like coffee, but no matter what she did it always tasted of cardboard and sawdust.  
  
Much more depressed now, Hermione gathered herself together and headed for the shower. When she saw Draco Malfoy, she would simply pretend as if nothing had happened the night before. It would be easy as long as she stayed focused on her priorities: answers as to what the bloody hell was going on and, of course, coffee.  
  
And not necessarily in that order.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Draco leaned against the cool glass of the patio doors and gazed out into the gray morning. He heard the shower turn off and he shuffled tiredly to the couch. He had made a firm resolution the night before not to let her get to him again and he was determined to stick by it. No matter how she looked... wet.  
  
The door behind him creaked open and his body stiffened as the smell of soap and steam wafted over to him. He would not let her get to him. Resolutely, he turned to face her, openly smirking at the way she instantly adopted the look of a deer caught in headlights. The world was frozen for a moment; her wide, doe eyes meeting his, and he cleared his throat, preparing to say something nasty. Anything to diminish the heat he felt from her gaze.  
  
Instead, he found himself smiling wryly. "Are you okay? You're not blinking."  
  
Okay. Not quite a stab at the jugular but he was willing to work on it. If anything, he was persistent.  
  
"Food," was her blunt and articulate reply. He felt his smirk grow. So he had power over her as well. Shaking her head, she started to the kitchen. "I need food," she said again.  
  
He heard her rummaging about and laid back on the couch waiting. He didn't have to for very long.  
  
"Where is the food?" she called, her voice clearly irritated. The wind outside picked up and he couldn't make out her next words over the rustling and whistling of the blast.  
  
Draco closed his eyes for a minute, listening. It was calming. When he opened them again, Hermione was standing over him, hands on hips, looking very cross. He couldn't help thinking that the fire in her eyes and the little crinkle in her forehead were insanely sexy.  
  
Innocently, he looked up at her, if only to irk her more. "Can I help you with something?"  
  
The blaze in her eyes burned brighter and he grinned.  
  
"Are you working for the Ministry?" she demanded suddenly.  
  
His grin faltered. Shit. He hadn't been expecting that.  
  
"God, no," he growled, sitting up and scratching the back of his head. "The Ministry is impractical. Naively idealistic. No one in their right mind would want to work for them." He pushed up off the couch and leaned against the cold stones of the fireplace. He needed to put some distance between them.  
  
Hermione huffed and Draco remembered belatedly that she worked for the Ministry. But she didn't comment on it. In fact, her face revealed confusion rather than annoyance. She obviously wasn't in the habit of having to hide her emotions. He could plainly read her.  
  
"But then why did you-why am I here? Who ARE you working for?"  
  
She was asking all the questions he would've asked if in the same situation, yet he couldn't help but feel a bit indignant. After all, he had saved her life. Couldn't she just be grateful?  
  
He gritted his teeth. "I work for myself and you are here because otherwise you would be dead," he ground out, wondering why he felt the need to explain himself to her.  
  
"But-"  
  
He cut her off by kicking a piece of wood by the fireplace, making it splinter as it hit the wall.  
  
"Drop it."  
  
Hermione nodded meekly and pressed on her sinus. "I need coffee. Is there some place we can go?"  
  
Slipping his wand from his fore-arm holster, he nodded. Without another glance at her, he apparated.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
He just left, just like that. Simply disappeared.  
  
Bloody git.  
  
Hermione curled up on the couch, mentally throwing around possible insults she could fling at him when he came back.  
  
If he came back.  
  
But of course he would. Why would he go through all the trouble of saving her if he were simply going to leave her to starve? The thought was only slightly comforting.  
  
She had finally narrowed down her stinging remarks to two below the belt jabs, when she heard the distinctive _pop_ of displaced air behind her. Much to her disappointment, all thought left her as an enormous styrofoam cup of coffee was thrust in her face. She wrenched off the lid, forgoing the sipper for direct access to her sweet ambrosia. As she gulped, she watched as Draco pulled an enormous amount of food out of the bag at his side, setting it down on the coffee table. But her attention was soon drawn to his face-more accurately, his lips-and at the carefree sort of grin on them as he watched her slurp noisily.  
  
"You look different when you smile," she said softly, putting the empty cup down as she settled back into the couch.  
  
"Different?" he questioned, leaning back on his heels as he crouched at the opposite end of the table. She was pleased to see that his eyes were still twinkling even though the smile had gone.  
  
"Yes, different... younger."  
  
"Undeniably good looking? Sexiest man on the planet?" he chimed in, taking a noisy bite out of an apple and crossing to the other end of the couch.  
  
Snorting, Hermione smiled. "Your over-developed sense of self worth hasn't been damaged at all, I see. Some things never change."  
  
He met her eyes and she found that her breath was eluding her.  
  
"And some things do," he said softly. She gasped as a finger gently traced the scar on the side of her neck. Did he know what happened? How could he know? The look in his eyes was impossible to read and she still hadn't found her breath. Touch, she realized, could be intoxicating and she felt her senses reel at the brief connection.  
  
She thought she glimpsed something-guilt, maybe-in his eyes but just as she thought she might actually be able to see the real Draco, the masked expression was back, the guard was up, the door was shut.  
  
He moved back to the edge of the couch and picked up a sandwich. Hermione was surprised at the comfortable silence that enveloped them as they ate. She quickly found herself trying to surreptitiously steal glances at him every once in a while and hoped he had not noticed.  
  
"Can I go home today?" she asked softly, not out of curiosity but for something to say.  
  
He sighed. "That's not a good idea. No doubt, your house is already being watched. You probably wouldn't even make it to the front door."  
  
"What am I supposed to do then, huh? Stay here forever?" She knew her anger was unjustified but she couldn't help feeling irritable. "I bloody live with Harry Potter! How can I NOT be safer there than here?!"  
  
"Welcome to Deluded, population Hermione Granger. On the left is Denial Avenue and to your right, we will be passing Illusion Way."  
  
Hermione bit back a gasp at Draco's surprisingly playful sarcasm.  
  
"This may come as news to you," he continued. "But Potter is not all- powerful. He is simply lucky."  
  
That made her smile. "So you're saying that I'm safer with you than him?"  
  
"Yes." The seriousness of his voice and countenance made her breath hitch.  
  
"Your ego is getting too big for this room," she said, trying to ignore the pitter-patter of her heart. "Didn't you know I'm claustrophobic?"  
  
They had finished eating by now and sat side by side on the worn cushions, Hermione painfully aware of their proximity to each other. She felt flushed from the heat radiating off him.  
  
"And how would I know that? We were never friends in school."  
  
"And whose fault was that?" The room was cold again, and she fought the chills that ran up her arms.  
  
He put up his hands in mock defeat. "Hey, I was simply living up to the Malfoy name."  
  
"And here I thought you were trying to live up to your __first name."  
  
His eyebrows scrunched together in confusion and she felt an incredible urge to lean over and muss his hair as she did to Ron's twins.  
  
"I was trying to be a dragon?" he asked quizzically.  
  
She laughed. "No, you dolt. Draconian means cruel or severe."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"You mean, you didn't know?"  
  
He stood and stretched. "What's that old adage? You learn something new every day? And anyway, I _was_ trying to be a dragon." By the pouting tone of voice in which he said that sentence, Hermione expected him to be sticking his tongue out at her. He didn't.  
  
Instead, he pulled his wand out of seemingly nowhere and bent down to fiddle with the unlit wood in the fireplace. They both let the silence sit there awhile.  
  
"You know, you're right about Harry," she said quietly.  
  
He paused but didn't look at her.  
  
"Harry's not all-powerful. No one is. We all have flaws that make us vulnerable."  
  
"And what do you see as Potter's greatest flaw?" It was said almost bitterly.  
  
She thought for a moment, watching Draco's back rise and fall with each breath.  
  
"Harry's never been one for thinking with his head when his heart is screaming so much louder. He would sacrifice everything for a friend."  
  
The silence resumed and Draco returned to piling the wood.  
  
*****  
  
He was back on the couch. That damn uncomfortable couch. Draco was not a patient man and sitting here and waiting for Jonathan was killing him.  
  
There were quiet footsteps behind him and he felt Hermione climb onto the couch beside him, curling her legs underneath her.  
  
"I found this," she said softly. He found it funny that they were speaking so quietly to each other. He looked at her extended hand. Without thinking, he took the silver object from her and as he recognized it, he cried out. It was his mother's pendant. It had been torn off her that night when his father had found them hiding-  
  
No. He wouldn't think about it.  
  
Instead his memories of his mother drew him into another night, one that he had forgotten.  
  
_Her room was always illuminated by flickering candle light in the evenings. She only lit the fire when his father came up to bed. It was cold in the room but she never seemed to notice.  
  
Draco sat in the corner of the room, hidden in the moving shadows, playing with his small, plastic Quidditch team replicas and watching. He was probably around seven or eight. Sitting down in front of the enormous vanity, his mother began to slide her brush slowly, carefully through her long golden tresses, humming softly to herself. He recognized the song. It was the one the adults always danced to at their parties. He watched her intently, seeing the dark shadows and deep creases on her face. They made her look so old.  
  
Gracefully, she stood and glided over to the bathroom door to prepare her nightly bath.  
  
He held his breath.  
  
For some reason, Draco had the urge to fill the bathtub for her that day. He'd seen her do it so many times before, seen the way she painstakingly poured scented liquids into the churning, bubbling water, and wanted to do it for her.  
  
He knew instantly that he had poured in too much; the bubbles had spilled unceremoniously over the sides and the smell of night jasmine was so strong it had made his eyes water. He hoped she didn't get mad at him and prayed that she didn't tell his father.  
  
As she stared into the steamy room, he wondered if he could feign knowledge or blame it on the house elves but then she turned to him, a tear streaking down one cheek and for a fleeting moment she seemed young again.  
  
Another tear fell as she slipped over to his little refuge in her room and he prepared himself for the worst. He'd upset her, after all. She bent down, wrinkling the pristine silk robe, and scooped him up into her arms, kissing him on the temple like she used to do when he was littler.  
  
"Thank you, sweetheart," she whispered and he felt her hesitantly let him go.  
  
Humming softly, she went into the bathroom and shut the door.  
_  
As Draco became aware of the present-the lumpy couch, the roaring fire, and the cracking walls-he was left dizzy and breathless. Focusing on remaining steady, he looked down at the familiar pendant still resting in his hand. He dropped it on the floor and looked away.  
  
"Draco?" Her sweet voice broke through the silence and he noticed that she had her hand on his arm. He must've been pale; he felt pale and she was looking at him worriedly.  
  
He gestured down to the object on the floor without looking at it. Did she know about his mother's death? It had been in the Daily Prophet for weeks after his father had been taken into custody. She must've seen or heard the stories. His father was in Azkaban, for Christ's sakes.  
  
"My mother's," he offered in way of explanation. He turned back to the fire, not wanting Hermione to see him vulnerable like this. Desperately, he wished she would go away, leave him alone. But when she stood up and shuffled around the couch, he had never felt so alone.  
  
But then a warm, soft hand touched his shoulder and he jerked away before he'd realized he'd done it. Feeling guilty, he glanced over his shoulder at her, watching as her eyes became sad for a moment, and a dark cloud seemed to pass suddenly over her, darkening her face. And then, just as quickly, the shadow passed.  
  
With a concerned look in her eyes, she positioned herself directly behind him and put her thin hands on his shoulders, massaging them. He felt his resolve melt away as her nimble fingers worked down his back. Soon, his breath became ragged and he relaxed his head as a tear fell, letting her knead some of the tension away. It was as if for the past five years, his muscles had been cramping tighter and tighter into little knots, warping him, and suddenly those knots began to unravel, began to work themselves out.  
  
He wasn't sure how much time had passed but eventually Hermione came back around and sat next to him. Sucking in a shaky breath, he looked at her through guarded eyes. Her attention was on the fire; she was obviously lost in thought. Her deep brown hair was swept around her face, framing her flower-petal pale skin and an intent expression. Although she was leaning forward, her slender shoulders were still set unassumingly straight.  
  
She was beautiful, and for maybe the first time since he was thirteen, Draco felt afraid.  
  
Growing up with Lucius as a father taught him not to feel fear. Every once in a while, Draco would witness a torture or a murder in his house. It wasn't uncommon to him, but he was still terrified. But once, in the summer he turned thirteen, Draco had been eavesdropping when he shouldn't have been. Of course, he hadn't really understood anything being discussed; Draco was only listening for ammunition to use against Potter. His father had been so angry when he found him, he'd shot a cruciatus curse at him before he could scurry away. The pain had been immense but it had cured him of being afraid.  
  
He couldn't be afraid if he was going to live.  
  
He learned how to walk, stand, glare, retort, and where to relax and where not to in order to survive. The safest was not to relax at all.  
  
But none of that applied here, with Hermione and her soulful eyes, on this godforsaken couch. She was a terrifying enigma.  
  
He needed to start a fight. Distract himself. Arguing could be a beautiful thing if mastered.  
  
Her face was glowing in the flickering shadowy gold of the fire and her eyes were scintillating like bottomless pools of hope. Her attention was on him now, eyes searching his as a tiny smile spread on her face. Her feelings were blatantly clear; she was confused but held a warmth for him that he was not used to seeing. He could read her like an open book and it puzzled him to no end. Didn't she ever need to hide her feelings? How could she be so open?  
  
"What the hell did you discover, Granger? Why did they want you so badly?" His voice was soft and by the end, he had trailed off so quietly that he could barely hear himself.  
  
A ghost of a smile caressed her face and she turned her body to face him fully. And then she did something unexpected. She giggled.  
  
"It's funny that you asked me that because I was hoping that maybe you could tell me." She giggled again, and he noticed that it had a nervous, manic quality to it.  
  
"You don't know?" he asked, perplexed. How could she not know?  
  
She shook her head, her face beginning to crumble. "No. I-I work in charms-but he was hurt. for so long, on the floor in pain. I did something wrong but I don't know what. Was it a flick of the wrist? A mispronounced word? I don't know."  
  
He felt his insides weaken at her small voice. He suddenly felt an uncontrollable urge to console her somehow, but he didn't know how without touching her. Instead, he opted for changing the subject.  
  
"So you and Potter are married?" he asked, suddenly realizing that she hadn't corrected him when he called her Granger.  
  
She looked confounded, but whether it was due to the topic jump or the question, he did not know.  
  
"No, why would you think that? Oh. No, we just live together." She gave him a secretive smile, her brown eyes dancing.  
  
He remained silent, watching her watch him. She was trying to read him, trying to get a feel for what he was thinking. If his father had taught him one thing (besides being a homicidal bastard), it was never to let anybody read him. He could see her puzzlement as she got no grasp on his emotions. He could tell she was used to doing this, something that could probably be easily done with her overly trusting friends.  
  
Well, let her try.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
The fire had long since died and Hermione was growing cold despite being wrapped in quilts. Draco had gone to the porch again and Hermione didn't feel like disturbing him. He had said something earlier about waiting for someone to come. She just hoped it happened soon before she froze to death. If only she had her wand.  
  
Then again. his was still sitting on the table. Guiltily, her eyes darted to his form through the glass. He wouldn't mind if she just borrowed it for one spell.  
  
She picked it up and felt it crackle in her hands. It was heavy and unfamiliar. She had never used another person's wand before. It was rather exciting.  
  
Determined, she stood up and pointed the wand at the cooling logs.  
  
"Incendio."  
  
The next thing she knew, she was flying backwards across the room and seeing stars.  
  
"Ouch," she moaned, brushing her hair back off her face. And what was that smacking sound? Looking up, she realized it was Draco in the doorway, who was smirking and clapping.  
  
"Well, THAT was impressive. And when I say 'impressive,' I'm referring to the light show. That landing wasn't anything to write Potter about," he drawled loudly, taking her back in time to their frequent stand-offs in school. That tone of voice had been nonexistent until now. It brought a surge of annoyance and anger up through her.  
  
But Hermione kept a grip on her temper but only just.  
  
"Allow me to respond to that with a glare," she grumbled. "Now help me up." The quilts that had been around her were now twisted painfully, cutting off circulation in a number of extremities.  
  
"Whatever happened to being polite? I DID save your life, after all."  
  
She narrowed her eyes at him. The shadows landed on his face, defining his high cheekbones and chiseled jaw, and his annoyingly alluring lips twisted in that aggravatingly perpetual smirk.  
  
She helped herself up and threw his wand at his face none too gently. A sudden and amusing vision of it poking him in the eyes made her grin but he caught it easily.  
  
His cocky smirk grew and Hermione balled her right hand into a fist. She felt like punching him. It was a good thing he wasn't in reach.  
  
When she didn't answer, he continued, making a show of inspecting the wand for any damage. "What were you trying to do anyway? Kill yourself?"  
  
"No, I was trying to relight the fire." She rubbed her shoulder which had taken the brunt of the landing.  
  
"Well, I don't think my wand's compatible with you. What can I say? It has high standards."  
  
Rolling her eyes, Hermione grunted. "You mean it only works for machiavellian bastards? Wow, that's one picky wand." She sat back down on the couch and wrapped the blankets around her again.  
  
"Try sex gods with perfect hair." His cockiness never ceased to amaze her. Draco sent a spell into the fireplace, which produced immediate and warming flames, and then sat next to her.  
  
"You know, Muggles have a name for this disorder you have."  
  
"Is it anything like the disorder that is your hair?"  
  
Her hand unconsciously flew to the waves that lay loosely against her head and she glared at him.  
  
"You're a megalomaniac." She knew she was using what her friends referred to as her "miss-know-it-all" voice and she hoped it bothered Draco as much as it did Harry and Ron.  
  
He snarled. "And you're a head case but you don't hear me complaining." His icy cold eyes shot daggers and she could feel each and every one pierce her skin, drawing metaphorical blood.  
  
"Why do we always end up trading insults? Why does it always come down to blows?" she asked.  
  
Draco pushed up off the couch and walked to the windows on the far side of the room. Running a hand along the back of his head, he stared out, silent and unresponsive.  
  
"Draco, I'm not saying that this is necessarily a bad thing. I'm just honestly curious." She found herself slowly approaching him, as she would a skittish animal. But when she saw his face, she stopped. He was smirking. Not a mean smirk, just a tiny acknowledging smirk.  
  
And then he looked at her. Not just looked AT her but looked into her. God, he could melt bloody icecaps with those eyes. Hell, he'd already succeeded with her. She tried to steel herself against him, to reign in her wayward emotions. Her breath was leaving her again. He was so close; she could smell that tangy scent again.  
  
"I'm tired. Funny that, since I've done basically nothing all day."  
  
Draco looked at her with a patronizing sort of grin.  
  
"Well, anyway, after sitting on that couch for hours on end, I know it's not the most comfortable thing, and you." She knew she was treading close to quicksand yet she couldn't help it. Once she stepped in, she wouldn't be able to resist getting pulled under. Maybe that was what attracted her. "You can sleep on the mattress tonight... with me... well, not __with me--you know what I mean... if you want, that is." She grinned up at him, flustered. "You stay on your side and I'll stay on mine?" she added weakly.  
  
The offer was a volatile one and they both knew it. They were on dangerous ground now.  
  
He didn't say anything.  
  
"Well, I'm going to go... off to bed. Goodnight."  
  
Hermione hurried to the bedroom and shut the door.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
When she awoke, it couldn't have been more than a couple of hours later, the moon was high in the sky and the clouds seemed to have dissipated completely. Holding her breath, she rolled over slowly and saw that Draco had not taken her up on her offer. She was both relieved and disappointed. One thing was for sure, though. The Draco she had known in school would've followed her the moment she turned away.  
  
But it was no doubt for the best.  
  
Her throat was parched, so much so that it hurt when she tried to clear it. Dragging herself out of the warm bed and into the frigid air, she crept out the door and through the living room to the kitchen, peeking at sleeping Draco on the way. Just as she found a bottle of water that Draco had brought earlier, there was a rush of air and movement and she pitched forward until a pair of arms grabbed her. Hermione caught her balance and followed the strong arms holding her up to a pair of intensely soulful blue eyes. The man flashed a beguiling smile.  
  
Bloody hell.  
  
He was one of those incredibly gorgeous, make-your-knees-weak guys with perfect teeth that would make her parents proud. Those were the worst kind.  
  
"I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" Draco asked. He was in the doorway, shirtless with his hair awry and in her haste to extricate herself from the handsome stranger's arms, she almost fell again.  
  
"I see you've met Jonathan."  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
TBC.  
  
If you liked (and even if you didn't) please review :)_


	5. Confusion is Nothing New

Safety in the Storm Chapter Five  
  
By jennieslife  
  
Author note: This is unbeta'ed because my dear sister is too busy and I was so excited to get another part out so soon, I didn't want to wait. So in other words, I'm sorry if there are any grammatical errors.  
  
Jennie  
  
CONFUSION IS NOTHING NEW  
  
"I see you've met Jonathan."  
  
It was funny how it only took a refulgent smile by a dangerously handsome man and a half asleep and half naked Draco to make her want to sit in the corner and start rocking. The only thing that kept her in place was the fact that the dashing stranger still had his large hand wrapped around her upper arm. She was extremely grateful for the darkness that hid the room because it masked her intensely red face.  
  
"Actually," the man said in a surprisingly gentle voice. His rich brown eyes searched hers with a concerned twinkle as he slowly removed his hand and stepped away. It seemed as though he thought that without the support his hand had given her, she was going to simply crumble to the floor. Her irritation at that quickly overrode her embarrassment. "We haven't been properly introduced yet," he finished, whipping his wand around, bringing instant flames to the many candles scattered throughout the room.  
  
Seeing him in the light was even more jaw dropping and Hermione had to force herself to stop staring and shake his hand before he flashed those pearly whites again.  
  
Only he didn't. Shake her hand, that is. The smile appeared as soon as her hand jutted out and he leaned down and softly brushed his lips across the top, practically making her swoon. And Hermione Granger did not swoon. While Draco had that arrogant, sophisticated handsomeness to him, Jonathan was the complete opposite with a boyish grin and sparkling eyes.  
  
"I'm Jonathan Pierce, self-proclaimed protector of Draco." Draco snorted loudly but they both ignored him. "And I serve as clean up crew to his incessantly bad choices and mistakes."  
  
Wait. Did he just say that she was a mistake? She narrowed her eyes.  
  
"I have come to get you two out of this godforsaken hell hole," he said, louder this time, as he turned to look at Draco. Jonathan's smile widened and he hopped up on the counter, resting back against the cabinet above. No matter how much she tried not to, she felt her eyes soften at his easygoing demeanor. It was definitely refreshing after the past day of hell she'd had. "And you must be the lovely Hermione Granger who started this whole mess."  
  
It was her turn to say something. She didn't think she had uttered anything at all, well discounting the shriek she emitted earlier when he apparated in, and that was so unlike her. As she still fumbled for words, he quirked his head to the side curiously.  
  
'Say something!' her mind screamed.  
  
"You're American."  
  
Way to state the obvious. Flinching, Hermione looked to Draco. He was wearing that damn infuriating smirk again as he leaned against the doorjamb. But annoying as it was, it was just what she needed to ground herself, to clear her hazy mind.  
  
Jonathan laughed and patted her head as he would a child. "So I am."  
  
Smiling up at him sweetly, she hefted herself up next to him. "It's nice to meet you," she replied softly. Then added, "I'm glad that you're here. If I had to be alone with Draco much longer there would be much blood shed. And you know how difficult it is to get blood stains out."  
  
His laugh was genuine and carefree and Hermione instantly knew she could trust him. He reminded her of Ron. There was a moment where he looked back and forth from Draco to her again with a strange smile on his face but it was over before she had a chance to comment on it.  
  
"Yes, I do," he agreed with a conspiratorial wink. Hopping down, he crossed to Draco and gave him one of those handshake hug-slash-back pats that guys always gave each other. She jumped down as well but hung back, almost feeling as though she were intruding.  
  
But Hermione couldn't help but feel awed at the obvious ease of their camaraderie. Draco's smile was alighted in abandonment although she was not clear on exactly what he was forsaking. Maybe it was a drop in pretence, a slackening in the guarded exterior... whatever it was, it made him look years younger. They consulted quietly for a moment and she could honestly say that she did not attempt to listen in.  
  
From the brevity of it, it couldn't have been all that interesting anyway.  
  
"Well, if you both would excuse me, I haven't showered in a day and using a port key always leaves me feeling less than fresh. That is, if this dump even HAS a bathroom." His nose scrunched up as he glanced around. Draco gestured to the other room impatiently and Jonathan left after flashing that heart throb smile at her again. She watched him salute Draco mockingly before he disappeared from view, an amused smile tugging at her mouth. Shaking her head, she giggled as she heard bits of exclamations about the filthiness of the cabin from the other room.  
  
Suddenly, she was aware of a warm body close to hers and she raised her eyebrows curiously at Draco who had somehow sidled up next to her without her noticing. He seemed to be studying the scar on her neck again and she shied away self-consciously.  
  
"You know, Hermione, if you were any more obvious, you would be drooling down his neck," he whispered with a hint of sarcasm, his heated breath blowing across her cheek and ear. How could such a simple act by him make her knees so weak? It didn't seem fair.  
  
She knew she should retort, she wanted desperately to retort but it was so damn impossible with him so close. Abruptly, she pulled away, resting against the counter once again trying to keep her breathing even. Her mouth opened but the words froze in her throat when she saw the flickering candle light burning in his eyes and the way his lips slightly parted as though he too were struggling for breath.  
  
His face inched closer and she felt his fingers caress her arm so softly she might have thought it had been the breeze. As if time had slowed to little more than a crawl, Draco brushed his lips across hers feather light and pulled back enough for her to see the storm raging in his eyes. He was a tempest, one that she should run far away from yet she couldn't; rain and lightening had always intrigued her.  
  
Again, their lips were fluttering against each other's and her eyes fell shut as the world began to spin. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he pressed his mouth to hers, firmer and warmer than before and she gasped aloud at the sensation.  
  
This was what kissing was meant to be like and Hermione wondered how she had gotten through her life thus far without experiencing this.  
  
Clutching at his bare arms, she was in desperate need of something to ground her through the whirlwind of emotions that consumed her. Her awareness had dimmed and only the feeling of his arms around her waist, his hair brushing her cheek, and his tongue running over her lip were registered.  
  
Someone moaned breathily and she wasn't sure if she did it or not. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered except the taut feel of his skin-  
  
"Hey Draco!" Jonathan's voice from the other room was like a bucket of ice cold water. Draco wrenched himself away, leaving her feeling cold and abandoned against the counter. "Do you have any extra towels?"  
  
Swearing softly, Draco looked back at her, his expression back to being an unreadable mask, and left.  
  
Oh no, this didn't complicate things at all.  
  
Ten minutes later, the three of them were sitting in the living room in front of the fire, Hermione and Jonathan on the couch and Draco on the floor across from them. She was ashamed to admit it but she couldn't bring herself to look at Draco.  
  
Immature, she knew, yet he seemed to have an uncanny ability to bring that side out in her.  
  
"What I'm trying to say is that there's something amiss with Damien," Jonathan was saying to Draco as he rubbed a towel over his short black hair. "Something's about to happen or is already happening."  
  
"Shit. That means that the time table we have..." Draco trailed off and Hermione braved a glance at him. The scowl on his face had deepened; he looked murderous.  
  
"He sent me to the states to talk with a man named Craig McDowell."  
  
"Never heard of him," Draco muttered, pulling his knees up to his chest and resting his chin on them. It was quite childlike.  
  
"Not surprised," Jonathan continued. "I was there to recruit." He grimaced and looked into the raging fire.  
  
Unable to contain the questions that were brimming inside her any longer, Hermione leaned forward. "Who's Damien?"  
  
To say that Jonathan looked surprised would be an understatement. "You haven't told her?"  
  
Glaring, she turned back to Draco who was absently shaking his head.  
  
"Well, love, Damien is our quote end quote boss. See, he's an American who shared Voldemort's ideals and began to form his own liege of death eaters back home. I was sent by my government to infiltrate, which I did just in time for Damien to decide he wanted to join forces with Voldemort. Thirty of us came here about ten years ago and not surprisingly Damien shot up to the inner circle extremely fast mainly due to his ruthlessness and cunning."  
  
Draco sighed and scratched the back of his neck as he looked at her. "It is believed that it was Damien and not Voldemort who orchestrated the kidnapping of you and Weasley to lure Potter to him." She watched as his eyes flicked from hers to Jonathan's.  
  
"You're.?" Jonathan shook his head. "This just gets more interesting by the minute."  
  
"But why wouldn't he have gone after Harry again? No one's tried," Hermione questioned, ignoring Jonathan.  
  
"That's just it. Damien didn't do it to kill Harry, he did it to get rid of Voldemort. Who else but Harry would be able to destroy him once and for all?" Draco's voice had a bitter quality to it and he stood up.  
  
"And of course," Jonathan added in. "If he did it himself, none of Voldemort's loyal followers would accept Damien as the new leader."  
  
"So, the death eaters were never squashed? All those arrests... it wasn't all of them?... All of you?" Flinching, her eyes unconsciously went to their covered forearms.  
  
Jonathan must have seen this because he lifted his sleeve revealing an unblemished expanse of skin. "When Voldemort was destroyed, they disappeared. And no, the army of death eaters were not devastated at all, not by a long shot. Damien is different than Voldemort in that he doesn't get caught up in short-term plans. He's in it for the long haul and isn't afraid to plan each and every detail out years in advance. That's what has us so worried. The plan isn't supposed to come into effect for another year. And then there was your kidnapping. He would never do something so rash if his plan weren't already in motion. And this means that he's not being as forthcoming about his schemes as we'd hoped."  
  
There was silence for a while as Hermione digested this.  
  
"Now, we need to hide YOU away," Jonathan looked pointedly at Hermione and he must have noticed her depression at the statement because he slipped an arm around her shoulders. "Come on, love. Be realistic. Just because you got away, doesn't mean they're not going to come after you again. And don't worry, the place I have in mind is a hell of a lot nicer than this place."  
  
Draco looked up from the spot on the floor he had been examining and narrowed his eyes at Jonathan. "She's not staying in your flat with you. That building is crawling with death eaters."  
  
"I wouldn't dream of it. Besides, I moved out last week, remember?"  
  
Now Draco's eyes became wide and he began pacing. "No. No way. Not uh."  
  
"Come on, Draco. Think about it. It's the last place anyone will think to look for her."  
  
"No. You don't know what's there-"  
  
"Where? What are you two talking about?"  
  
They both looked at her as though they had forgotten she was in the room. Jonathan looked to the other man who simply threw up his hands, muttering to himself.  
  
"Well, I had rather despised my apartment for a long time and Damien offered me use of his family manor."  
  
"But I thought he was American."  
  
"Yes, but originally he was from England. His parents died when he and his sister were very young, no one knows how old for sure, and they were shipped off to America to live with some distant relative." She raised an eyebrow at his vagueness and Jonathan shrugged. "He's very tight lipped about his childhood... well, about everything."  
  
"So you want to take me to his childhood home? I think I'm going to have to side with Draco on this one. That is a sucky idea."  
  
"No, it isn't. It's brilliant. His parents died in that house and Damien hasn't stepped foot in it since. Think about it. He practically GAVE me the place. He wanted to get rid of it."  
  
Sighing, Hermione looked to Draco. He had retreated to the window and was gazing out listlessly. This was going to piss him off.  
  
"Fine," she admonished, holding up her hand as Draco spun around. "But on one condition." She looked Draco in the eye.  
  
"What's that?" Jonathan asked.  
  
"I need to speak with Harry. He needs to know that I'm alright."  
  
Still holding her gaze, Draco stepped forward. "Write him a note. I don't want you anywhere near your house-"  
  
"No," Jonathan broke in. "It's perfect. It'll help to build you an alibi."  
  
"What do you mean?" Draco finally looked away and she felt her heart thump at the loss of contact.  
  
"If Hermione shows up at her house with two men, it would support my previous theory about her having help."  
  
Draco nodded slowly, seeing where Jonathan was headed. "Glamours. Just pop in long enough to show Potter she's alright and create witnesses and then pop out. Of course, once at the manor, you'll have to rough me up a bit for it to be believable when I come crawling back." he trailed off, lost in thought.  
  
"It'll be my pleasure. We should go right before dawn. That gives us about three hours of sleep." As Hermione stood and stretched, Jonathan took the opportunity to rest his legs where she had been sitting. "I call the couch."  
  
Giggling, Hermione left the two men to bicker by themselves, and headed towards the bedroom. But she stopped when Draco stepped in as well.  
  
"What are you doing?" she asked as he moved to the pile of blankets.  
  
He looked at her, face defined in the faint moonlight. There was a surprising definition to his jaw line that spoke of an innately strong stubbornness and she found it curiously alluring.  
  
"You offered me half the mattress," he reminded her with a patronizing grin.  
  
She scoffed. "That was before."  
  
He stepped up close to her and her mind unwillingly drifted back to their kiss. "This is MY mattress."  
  
Grinning devilishly, she attempted a pout. "But I was hoping to share with Jonathan."  
  
He growled deeply in his throat and she smiled smugly. That was, until he called to the other man.  
  
"Sorry, Jonathan. Hermione wants to cuddle with YOU. I'm on the couch tonight." And he left.  
  
All she could think was...  
  
Shit.  
  
There were muffled whispers on the other side of the door and Hermione used that time to slip into the bed. She was confident that Jonathan would not be the one next to her that night and she wasn't sure if she felt terrified or excited about that prospect.  
  
The doorknob rattled and she smiled at the door triumphantly. But it wasn't Draco that was before her, it was Jonathan. Hermione's excitement burst before them like a bubble.  
  
"Oh, it's you," she said after he closed the door. Her disappointment, which she didn't want to admit she was feeling, was barely hidden in her voice.  
  
"Okay, this time with less enthusiasm," he joked, sitting down on the edge of the mattress. "Don't worry, I'll be a good boy."  
  
She cringed at her rudeness. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that."  
  
He nodded and collapsed back on top of the blankets next to her. "I know. You were hoping I was him."  
  
"Hardly," she replied but even to her own ears it sounded forced.  
  
"Love, I saw it in your eyes the moment I walked in. I have often said that Draco is like a fine wine. He has the innate ability to intoxicate women to silliness."  
  
Hermione found herself chuckling despite the images of random women throwing themselves at him that popped into her mind. "Yes, but cheap wines do that as well."  
  
He looked at her knowingly. "But do they taste as good?"  
  
Her head shot up sharply and she wondered if he had meant that to have a double innuendo. Then she rolled over, uncomfortable at the images that overwhelmed her mind at the thought. Silently, she examined the man beside her. He was only a few years older than she was and had spent ten years spying on death eaters yet he still had managed to hold on to his humor, his humanity. It was a wonder.  
  
"What do you think of Draco?" he asked suddenly.  
  
Slightly taken aback, she hesitated. "Truthfully? He's an egotistical son of a bitch." She smiled frankly at his shocked expression at her words. "Yet he seems to have developed a conscience since I last saw him, so I guess it's an improvement."  
  
He nodded again. "You know, he's not so bad. He just has a hard time trusting people. But once he does, his sullen attitude diminishes. And, from what I saw of that kiss earlier, you're soon going to be added to that short list."  
  
She gasped at peered at him, shocked. "You saw that?"  
  
"Aww, don't be embarrassed, love. And I'm really sorry about interrupting." His eyes looked at her pleadingly though she knew he did it in fun. "Forgive me?" he pouted.  
  
Hermione felt a small smile building. "Yes, yes. Just don't let it happen again," she told him, balling her hands into fists to prevent the urge to playfully thwack him one.  
  
He slipped under the covers and mimicked her position, laying on his side to face her. "So I take it you two knew each other before this?"  
  
"Yeah. In school. And he was a million times worse than he is now, if you believe it. Although, now he has a darkness to him, an edge."  
  
"Well, do you know what happened to his family?"  
  
She nodded, vaguely remembering the details. "His mother died and his father went to Azkaban."  
  
"Yes, well, his father was a bastard. From what I gather, he beat the shit out of Draco's mom often. I'm not quite sure if he ever touched Draco, but his mom wanted to protect him and sometime during his teenage years, she took Draco and ran off to this very cabin to hide. His father found them, and it was even worse from then on."  
  
"God, if I had known." she trailed off, thinking about the small charm she had found earlier and his reaction to it. And then her mind went to him as a child, and the many insults they had traded. And the whole time he had been dealing with these issues.  
  
"If you had known, Draco would've probably hated you even more. In case you haven't been able to tell yet, he is not fond of weakness."  
  
She nodded, seeing the truth in this.  
  
"So anyway, Draco followed his father's orders and became a death eater, no doubt hoping to protect his mother because I know for a fact that his heart was never in it. That is until, Lucius killed his mother on Damien's order- punishment for a botched job-five years ago. What Draco lived through those years leading up to that moment scarred him for life. It made him. Created him. That's when he approached Duff wanting to help bring down both his father and Damien. Lucius was easy but Damien-it's been five years and we're still working on it."  
  
Closing her eyes, she again pictured the kiss in the kitchen. It was all about revenge.  
  
"I'm sorry. I've talked long enough. I'll let you get to sleep."  
  
"No. I like listening to you talk. It's almost soothing, well, as long as it's on a different subject." He smiled kindly at her. "Tell me about the manor?"  
  
Giving her a curt nod, he began. "It's nothing compared to the Malfoy citadel but it's a hell of a lot nicer than most places I've been in. Besides, I don't think it's technically a manor. As far as I can tell, no feudal lords ever lived there. Now, keep in mind, I've only explored a small portion of it so far, what with Draco going all heroic on me, but there's this library on the first floor that's so immense..."  
  
As he continued talking, Hermione felt sleep overtake her.  
  
*****  
  
The next thing she knew, she was woken up by hushed voices. When she opened her eyes, she caught sight of Draco and Jonathan discussing something by the door.  
  
"Is it time to go?" she groaned, peering up at the ceiling in the early morning darkness.  
  
Jonathan answered. "Yeah, love. Time to get up."  
  
Before she even had a chance to respond, Draco stormed out of the room. Raising an eyebrow, she looked to Jonathan.  
  
"Don't mind him. He's a bit of a grump in the morning."  
  
Getting up was easier than she expected. In fact, the morning had a feel to it that left Hermione feeling invigorated. It was probably the fact that she would be seeing Harry, if for just a few minutes. She missed him immensely.  
  
Fifteen minutes later, they were all ready to go. They stood in the living room, Draco on her right and Jonathan on her left. Obviously, some words had been said while she was in the bathroom because Draco was shooting death looks every time Jonathan looked at her.  
  
He was jealous. Or at least it appeared that way to her.  
  
Part of her thought it was quite sweet but the other part found it to be highly annoying. Guess which part was bigger.  
  
"Since you're the only one who's been there, you're going to have to apparate us there, but bring us to a spot a little down the street," Draco said softly, and Jonathan handed her his wand.  
  
She tried a simple spell of changing the color of the couch and nodded when it worked. Uncomfortably, she wrapped an arm around Jonathan's waist and then Draco's. She felt dwarfed between them and her heart sped up. She had never apparated with another person and it was nerve-wracking.  
  
Draco must've sensed this because he leaned down and whispered into her ear so that Jonathan couldn't hear. "It's okay. It's the same a apparating yourself except picture all of us, not just yourself." And then, as a last thought he added, "I trust you."  
  
That was what did it. Suddenly, she had all the confidence in the world to do it.  
  
A blink of an eye later, they were there, back in her neighborhood. A dog barked faintly down the street but other than that, everything was silent.  
  
"Good spot," Jonathan mumbled as he looked around. And yes, it was a good spot. Hermione was happy that she had thought about the small park.  
  
"Which one's yours?" Draco asked and she pointed to her small yellow house and noticed that her garden needed watering. She made a mental note to remind Harry to do it.  
  
Looking to Draco, she found she couldn't look away. She watched him stand there, in the shadows, watched as his eyes surveyed the neighborhood looking for anything suspicious and she noticed she had a slight tingle in her fingers.  
  
Must have been the cold.  
  
The chilling autumn air enveloped her. It was a clear reminder that snow was close upon them and she grinned despite the gravity of the situation. It was her favorite time of year. Then the wind picked up even more, slicing right through her with a keen edge.  
  
She shivered and looked out into the night.  
  
*****  
  
If there was one thing he'd learned the day before, it was that Hermione had the absolute whiniest voice in the world when she was in an impatient mood. And now was no exception.  
  
"How long are we going to stand here? You're going to catch a cold, you know."  
  
Belatedly, Draco realized that comment had been directed at him. Being a guy, of course, he only shrugged noncommittally, ignoring the fact that he had his arms wrapped around his chest and was trying to keep his teeth from chattering. He was freezing his bloody arse off, but damn if he admitted it.  
  
Rolling her eyes, Hermione snatched Jonathan's wand out of his hand and with a whispered word, his thin cloak became his own personal, portable heater. She smiled smugly and he had an uncontrollable urge to stick his tongue out at her. Or, at least, stick his tongue elsewhere. Thankfully, though, he refrained from both.  
  
Turning to Jonathan, he said, "By the tree to the right of the second house, on the roof by the blue truck and in the car across the street. No doubt the rest are in the back yard."  
  
Jonathan nodded in agreement and took back his wand. Draco didn't know how he could be so nonchalant about Hermione using it like that. Draco had a hard time seeing anyone simply holding his.  
  
Then again, that was Jonathan. It was who he was. That morning when Draco had gone in to wake them up, he had been so upset to see Jonathan holding her. How could he go from meeting her for the first time to holding her while they slept hardly hours later?  
  
But deep inside, he knew the truth. That wasn't what upset him. It was the fact that it should have been him holding her that made him cringe.  
  
He watched as Jonathan cast glamour spells on his hair and face and then transfigured his cloak into a different style and color. He now, remarkably enough, looked like a long lost Weasley, freckles and all. Hermione must've seen the resemblance as well because she giggled quietly.  
  
It was his turn. Idly, he picked through images in his mind.  
  
'Who do you want to be?' he asked himself, as he always did before using a glamour. 'Who do you want to be?'  
  
After a moment, he decided. His hair grew only a bit and turned dark as night, while his nose elongated and his face took on a pointed sallowness. If he had a mirror, he was sure he would resemble a young Severus Snape. Another spell and his cloak turned into the long flowing one modeled after the one their old potions professor was so fond of wearing.  
  
Laughing, Hermione reached up and experimentally touched his cheek then nose. "You have issues."  
  
"Just want to keep Potter on his toes. Let's go," he said and he saw her surprise and amusement. "I could do a spell to change my voice but what's the point? I'm not going to be talking at all."  
  
She nodded and looked as though she were trying very hard not to roll on the grass laughing.  
  
"Draco, you go up with her. I'll stay at the bottom of the porch."  
  
And with that, they set off. Without thinking, Draco reached down and took Hermione's arm to escort her up the yard. He felt her, the feel of her arm, the heat of her body, and his hand tingled almost like an electrical impulse ran from her body into his. He wanted to move the cloth covering her arm and touch her skin again but they had already arrived at the porch and she shrugged his hand off.  
  
The minute they ascended the steps, the front door opened.  
  
"Oh God, Hermione!" Potter cried, throwing open the screen and pulling her into his arms. Draco pushed down the urge to deck him. "Are you alright? Where have you been? What happened..." He trailed off as he caught sight of Draco and Jonathan. "Who are you?" he demanded pointedly.  
  
"Look, Harry, I'm fine. These men are helping me. I need to go away for a bit but I just wanted you to know that I'm alright."  
  
He didn't look convinced and Draco didn't blame him.  
  
Suddenly, a flash of bright light of a messily thrown curse bounced off the porch. Draco looked at Jonathan who nodded. He would take care of it. A slim hand slipped into his and he looked over in surprise. Hermione was holding onto him as she looked out in horror.  
  
Leaning over, he whispered to her. "It's okay. Jonathan can handle it. Go say goodbye."  
  
Nodding, she let go and threw herself once again in Harry's arms. "I'm sorry for not getting a hold of you sooner, I really am. I'll be back soon and I'll explain everything."  
  
She tried to pull away but Potter held her to him possessively. "No, who are these men? Where are you going?"  
  
"I'm sorry, Harry. I love you and tell Ron I love him as well." She pulled out of his embrace with tears in her eyes and as she came up beside him, he made the mistake of wrapping his arm around her tightly. Potter was on him in an instant. Another misplaced hex soared over their heads but neither gave it a second thought as Potter slammed him into a support beam.  
  
"What the hell have you done with her? Imperius curse? What?" he screamed, shoving him a second time.  
  
"Get off, Potter!" he growled, throwing the other man across the porch. "I'll protect her with my life, I promise."  
  
Pulling Hermione tight against him, he smiled as she wrapped her arms around his waist. And with a whistle to Jonathan, he apparated the two of them to the front foyer of the Bradford family home.  
  
*****  
  
TBC.  
  
Please drop me a line, whether good or bad, I really appreciate it. 


	6. Nobody Leads At All

TITLE: Safety in the Storm Chapter Six  
  
AUTHOR: Jennie  
  
RATING: R  
  
DISCLAIMER: (I haven't done one of these in a while so...) I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters or situations depicted in the books. As a result, I am just borrowing the characters of Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Ron Weasley, Harry Potter, etc. Samantha, Sebastian, Simon and Melissa Weasley, Marcus Hess, Rayanne and Damien Bradford, Jonathan Pierce, and Minister Duff are my creations and can be used if you seek my written permission.  
  
AUTHOR NOTE: I know it took me an eternity to come out with this chapter, but I was (and still slightly am) suffering from writer's block. So now I'm fore-warning you. The following chapter may make you do a double take at the awkwardness of it compared to the first few chapters. Seriously :)  
  
Anyway, the quote I'm using today is from one of my favorite bands. QUIZ TIME! Can anyone tell me what band and song it's from?  
  
"A side-stepping has come to be  
  
A brilliant dance  
  
Where nobody leads at all."  
  
Jonathan grew up in the suburbs of Los Angeles, a place of quarter of a million dollar track homes, pristine parks on every corner, and impeccably tailored residents bound tightly by their conservative views. The valley he lived in was self-sufficient; there was no need to drive the thirty minutes on traffic-congested freeways to get downtown, unless you were in search of a nightlife. None existed in his valley and that was how the pretentious residents wanted it. It kept the 'bad element' out.  
  
It was a town that tragedy rarely touched and premeditated violence, never.  
  
His parents were not rich by the town's standards but in any other state, they would have been affluent members of society. But the distinguished schools, clean streets, and health conscious attitude of Southern California brought them in and they lived comfortably in a two-story home with a view of a dry hill. His childhood was unremarkable in every way; he never broke any bones, received decent grades in school, wanted to be a fireman or astronaut when he grew up, and played with his younger sisters in the front yard on the weekends. That is, until he turned thirteen. He was to start junior high in the fall and that Christmas, his parents had promised a trip up north to go skiing. Life was normal, routine, until the day the two men in deep blue suits came to visit.  
  
They said they were from an exclusive private school for special and gifted students located in the heart of the Rocky Mountains and were offering Jonathan a scholarship to attend. His parents were wary, as to be expected in such a situation, but also anxious for their son to gain an edge over the other children and maybe one day he could go to Stanford or an Ivy League college. So private school it was.  
  
So instead of continuing on in his valley's continuously routine and endless cycle of life, he packed his things, said goodbye to his friends, sisters, and parents, and embarked on a journey that would forever change his life. He soon learned that Clandestine Academy was quite literal in its meaning and was one of two schools in the continental United States that taught the art of thaumaturgy or what was known as the art of magik.  
  
It was there, in that school of secrecy, where Jonathan Pierce fell in love for the first time with the one girl he shouldn't have. She was the delicate belle of the school with her bright blue eyes, silky blonde hair, and perfect posture but she was untouchable. She was an ice princess who always got what she wanted, when she wanted it. She ruled the school and reveled in every moment of it.  
  
Rayanne Bradford.  
  
The name still brought on shudders of an intense aversion yet an even stronger desire for her.  
  
The students at Clandestine Academy were not divided into bigoted houses according to random personality traits as they were at Hogwarts. Instead, they spent their first two years together, separated only by sex. Then, in their third year (which, for them, was at age fifteen) they were organized into dorms by interest or talent. Being efficient in the art of dueling, Jonathan was organized into the far west dorm known as Breaker Hall, which housed those studying the defensive and offensive measures to use against the dark arts.  
  
His roommate, as fate deemed it to be, was Rayanne's older brother, Damien, and Jonathan saw this as his opportunity to fall upon her good graces. If he could befriend Damien, he could work his way into her life, and maybe into her heart. How naïve he was.  
  
Damien was in his last year at Clandestine and was somewhat of a loner. His observantness was often misconstrued as shyness and as a result, people tended to leave him alone and many times, simply forgot he was in the room at all.  
  
So, Jonathan went to work trying to befriend his roommate but much to his disappointment, they formed only an uneasy alliance. It wasn't until Thanksgiving weekend did he get his first glimpse at Damien's true nature, although he wouldn't have any idea just how demented he was until much later. Essentially, Thanksgiving weekend was a free weekend and being so, most of the student population had dropped their books and headed outside to play in the snow mazes, ski, or play Quidditch, but Jonathan had stayed indoors to catch up on his reading in the commons. As he sat by the fire, he thought he heard a constant, monotone muttering coming from down the hall and went to investigate.  
  
What he found would change the course of his life.  
  
Damien was perched cross-legged on his bed mumbling in a language that, at the time, Jonathan did not recognize while a strange black mist crept along the carpet, curling around Jonathan's ankles.  
  
"What are you doing?" he asked and the moment Damien opened his eyes, the mist vanished.  
  
He was regarded with a cold stare for a moment before Damien smiled broadly, a glint in his eye.  
  
"Can you keep a secret?"  
  
That was how it started. From then on, they secretly practiced summoning and other dark spells whenever they could. Jonathan convinced himself it was only harmless fun. Besides, it wasn't like they were hurting anyone. Then one day at dinner in the cafeteria, Damien pointed out two fourth years that were shamelessly making out in front of the entire school.  
  
"They disgust me," Damien said. "Those mudbloods are always shoving their tongues in each other 's mouths in public places and making me lose my appetite." Jonathan wanted to point out that he was a mudblood as well, but he kept quiet because of the evil smile Damien flashed at him. "Let's make them stop."  
  
So they did. A simple distrust potion later and the couple were bickering one day and broken up the next. He felt guilty but Damien pointed out that the two *had* moved on rather quickly so they had just sped up the process a bit with their potion. To a fifteen-year-old boy, this made sense. Jonathan didn't realize that they were attempting to play God with their classmates. No, the only thing that mattered was that he and Damien were having fun.  
  
Christmas break came and Jonathan had begged off coming home saying he had too much work to do. His parents were disappointed ("You're going to miss the lighting ceremony downtown, honey!") but agreed, and his sisters sent pictures of dance recitals and soccer tryouts and a tin of cookies that they baked.  
  
Of course, he felt guilty but he had to do it. It was the plan.  
  
Most students had gone home for the holidays. In fact, he and Damien found themselves completely alone in Breaker Hall. Without the need to be discreet, they began to use the commons to plan their next caper against a fifth year named Michael Addison who had insulted Rayanne earlier that week.  
  
When they had at last finalized the details of their revenge (an enchanted bludger in the next Quidditch match), Damien sent him upstairs to retrieve something off his bed. That something ended up being Rayanne dressed only in a thin white sheet from his bed.  
  
She gave him his first crush when he was thirteen and at fifteen, she gave him another first he would never forget. And when it was over and he lay spent on the small bed, she pulled away. Despite the fact that she was dressing herself and preparing to leave as if what they had just done held no importance to her at all, her eyes told him another story.  
  
Of course, now he knew better. He now knew she was incapable of emotions such as love and affection towards anyone, with the exception of maybe her brother. Even then, it sometimes seemed iffy. But back then, he convinced himself that in her eyes he saw everything she wanted to hide, everything she really was underneath that icy demeanor, and it made him love her all the much more.  
  
And that was when Damien burst into the room.  
  
"Jonathan, the headmaster is waiting in the commons. He says it's urgent."  
  
From that moment on, his memory became spotty. He only remembered snippets here and there but Headmaster Walsh's words still rang clearly in his mind.  
  
"Something's happened son. Something bad. Last night, some men broke into your home. Your father must've caught them in the act of robbing your-they shot him, Johnny, he didn't make it."  
  
He couldn't remember what he had said in response. Most likely, he said nothing at all but Jonathan liked to think he remained brave and said something coherent.  
  
"There's more... your sisters, your mother... they're gone as well, Johnny."  
  
He hated that name. Johnny.  
  
Weeks passed in a blur of pain and tears and Jonathan found himself withdrawing form everyone, including Damien. He was surprised he actually passed all his courses although that was probably accredited to the teachers pitying him.  
  
Summer came and he stayed with his mother's old college roommate in New York City. Another culture shock, but nothing shocked him much at that point. The thing that saddened him the most was that there was no yard in front of the apartment building. He spent all his time at the ghetto park down the street, sitting on the scarred bench, reading graffiti tags and remembering his sisters.  
  
They wouldn't have liked it there.  
  
School started, and since Damien had graduated, Jonathan got a new roommate. This one was loud and didn't like dark magik and Jonathan actually found himself missing Damien. But before he knew it, graduation was upon him and he joined the Protectors League (American Aurors) for nothing better to do. After rising quickly to the top of his class, he was not surprised when the Agency approached him about an assignment.  
  
He was to infiltrate Damien's group under the guise that he wanted revenge on the muggles who killed his parents. Jonathan knew that he was smiling. He joined for two reasons that day. He was going to get his retribution.  
  
It didn't take long either. But it didn't make him feel any better when their blood was puddled on the floor. It made him feel worse. Guilt was something he had not been prepared for and it took a hard toll on him. How could Damien, Rayanne and everyone else in the group not feel the guilt, the blame, the burden he did? It was then that he realized exactly what he had gotten himself into. He found a goal in life. A reason to live for.  
  
He was going to find a way to make them feel the guilt he did. He was going to bring the Bradfords down.  
  
Long years had passed but Jonathan still played his part. He was the devoted follower in Damien's fascist movement who hated muggles for what they did to his parents, his sisters. He was trusted. He was family. And he would betray them.  
  
For that reason and that reason alone, Jonathan took an enormous amount of pleasure in sending those fighting him in Hermione's yard flying into the street or neighboring bushes. When Jonathan fought, whether in the physical or magical sense, he was trained to separate himself from the situation, to pull away just enough to become an observer as well as a participant. Though most inexperienced agent provocateurs never achieved this, in theory, it allowed the agent to anticipate his opponents' moves quicker as well as to remove himself from any pain he might be feeling. That was the motto that was drilled into all the agents' heads during the two-year training course back at the academy.  
  
Pain is an occupation hazard.  
  
Once you realized that pain was inevitable, it was easier to push it aside. And that, more than anything else, was what Jonathan excelled in.  
  
Spinning on his heel, he ducked to the side as a Conjunctivitis curse was flung at his chest. Why it was aimed there and not at his face, he didn't know. He was almost tempted to make a point of it the next time he saw Damien but he wasn't sure how to approach that conversation without completely giving himself away. Oh well. He had been hit twice now but anyone watching wouldn't have been able to tell. The pain was there-his chest and lungs felt like they were on fire and his left arm hung limply at his side-but was ignored as he threw a simple yet effective 'stupefy' to the sixth and what he hoped was the final attacker leaving the man immobile on the grass.  
  
A shrill but distinct whistle pierced Jonathan's well-constructed bubble of concentration and he turned in time to see Draco apparate out with Hermione. Good. Phase one complete. Quickly surveying the yard for any stragglers, he didn't sense the presence behind him until it was too late. Before he even had a chance to react, he was thrown to the ground by a surprisingly strong and thoroughly pissed off Harry Potter.  
  
It was funny, but he actually found himself star-struck.  
  
"Hello there," he said, gasping as Harry pressed his knee against Jonathan's chest. "I'm glad you decided to help and all, but I think you may be a bit confused. See, I'm on your side."  
  
His knee ground down harder and Jonathan was quite sure that his ribs were about to break.  
  
"Are you?" Harry hissed. "Prove it and take me to Hermione, then."  
  
Jonathan grimaced and stretched his fingers out along the ground at his side, searching for his fallen wand and thanked his lucky stars when his fingertips brushed the base.  
  
"I can't, I'm sorry. Once it's safe, she'll come back, I promise. We're only trying to protect her."  
  
"Who ARE you?" he demanded and Jonathan was surprised to see Harry's eyes become glassy and he found himself looking away. It was painful seeing such a famously heroic man show such weakness.  
  
Inwardly sighing, Jonathan finally got his wand between two of his fingers and looked back up into Harry's eyes.  
  
"A friend," he replied and closed his eyes, concentrating.  
  
When he reopened them, the pressure on his chest was off and he was lying on the cold floor of the manor, the large foyer looming up around him, a massive tower of cream stone and gilt, dignified and snobby. Rolling over with a groan, he spotted Draco still holding Hermione passionately to him, hands tangled in her hair, obviously not worried about him one bit.  
  
Figured.  
  
"I'm back," he said gruffly, sitting up. "Oh no, it was no trouble at all. I'm fine, thanks for worrying about me."  
  
It took a glare from Draco before he realized that they weren't kissing as he'd previously thought but rather Hermione was sobbing uncontrollably.  
  
He was lower than pond scum.  
  
"Oh, don't be upset, kiddo," he began. "You'll be back before you know it. I promise." He was beginning to think he should've spared her the pain and simply brought Harry here. "Now buck up and let's find you a room."  
  
She extracted herself from Draco's arms and swiped at her eyes, nodding. Composing herself remarkably fast, Hermione began to look around, obviously taking in her surroundings for the first time.  
  
Before he could begin his tour though, Draco pulled him aside. "Put her in a room with a balcony. I want a broom or two on it for a quick escape. Also, I want the room right next to hers, joined if possible. I'll be outside, walking the perimeter. Have you had a chance to become acquainted with everything?" Jonathan shook his head and Draco took a deep breath. "It's going to be a long day."  
  
"So I take it, you're planning on staying?" Jonathan asked, although he wasn't all that surprised.  
  
"Yes." It was said in such a definitive tone that he knew he wasn't supposed to ask questions.  
  
Sprinting up the stairs, he joined Hermione and nodded to the left. "There are four bedrooms, each with it's own bath, down there. That's where I've been sleeping."  
  
"I want to be near you."  
  
"Sure, you can have this one." He opened the door directly across from his and shivered when he felt a draft.  
  
Looking around without much interest, she wrapped her arms around herself and wandered over to the open doors that led to the balcony. But she didn't close them as he thought she would. Instead, she stepped outside letting the wind toss her hair around.  
  
"It was harder seeing him than you thought it would be." It wasn't a question it was a statement. He knew exactly how she felt. Okay, not exactly, but seeing Rayanne was always harder than he pretended it was. She still got to him after all these years.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Joining her, he saw that she was watching Draco down below, poking in shrubs and muttering spells. As far as he could tell, Draco had found nothing of interest yet.  
  
A few moments later, the blonde haired man looked up, saw them watching him, nodded curtly, and gestured to the downstairs.  
  
"Come on. Looks like Draco wants to order us around."  
  
She sighed. "This is me excited."  
  
He chuckled at her sarcasm and draped his arm around her shoulders. "Then I'd hate to see you at a party."  
  
*****  
  
He was notified about the attack on the Granger/Potter household ten minutes after it began. Even though it was extremely early in the morning, the light show produced by the missed hexes drew quite a bit of early risers to their windows. Blaise had quite a bit of work ahead of them and he put a slight bit of pressure to the bridge of his nose trying to force back both the coming headache and the feeling of déjà vu. It seemed, though, that where Harry Potter went, trouble seemed not far behind. He doubted that would ever change.  
  
"Don't tell me you have to go back to work now," Lavender mumbled from the bed he was dying to go back to.  
  
"Go back to sleep, luv. I should be back early." He kissed her on the cheek and turned away from her pleading eyes. Sometimes it became too hard.  
  
Arriving on the scene, Blaise quickly deployed his men to their tasks: four men to restrain (though they were all unconscious and didn't seem to require the normal methods of restraint) and apparate the attackers to a secure location to be interrogated, two men to scour the grounds for any evidence, and the rest of his team which numbered ten to obliviate any witnesses. He, himself, headed straight up the wooden porch steps to the front door trying not to notice just how much Potter's house resembled his own.  
  
Without bothering to knock, he threw the door open and paused, taking in his surroundings.  
  
"Potter!"  
  
He stepped in further, observing the dirty dishes piled up by the sink and the stack of unread newspapers on the table. Further in, he saw the forms of two men, wands drawn, flanking the doorway into the living room.  
  
"Fuck, Zabini," Potter's voice growled and he stepped into the dim kitchen light. "What the hell were you thinking walking in here like that after being attacked?"  
  
Blaise chuckled. "You don't scare me. Besides, what kind of attacker yells out your name the moment they enter your house? Now tell me what in bloody hell brought me out here at this ungodly hour."  
  
Adopting a confrontational stance once again, Potter shoved his wand back into his pocket. "I saw Hermione."  
  
THAT was unexpected. "What? She was here?"  
  
Potter's eyes darkened and his jaw worked. He could literally see the defenses rise in front of him.  
  
"Harry," a low voice warned from the corner. Up until that point, Blaise had assumed it was Ron Weasley but now he knew he was wrong. "Tell him what happened," the man added, coming up behind Potter.  
  
It took him a moment but he finally placed his face and nodded at him. "Black," he acknowledged the older man even though they had never met. Blaise was not one for formalities. Sirius Black dipped his head in return before again focusing on Potter, nudging him.  
  
"She arrived with two men and said that they were helping her. One man, he stayed down on the grass, was the one who held off the attackers. He was tall, maybe a meter and an eighth, red hair, blue eyes, medium build--" Again, he was nudged and he sighed, obviously annoyed. "But it flickered."  
  
"Flickered?"  
  
"Yeah, I was holding the guy down and... his face, his clothes... they flickered. I think it was a glamour."  
  
"And they were helping Miss Granger?"  
  
"That's what they said. The other man resembled Snape, oh don't give me that look, he really did, and I have to assume that that was a glamour as well which makes me think it was someone who went to Hogwarts. Someone that I knew and they didn't want me knowing it was them helping Hermione."  
  
"Oh, don't be so full of yourself. It probably has nothing to do with you. Ever consider the possibility that they used glamours to disguise themselves from the attackers?" He could tell by the shocked look on Potter's face that he hadn't thought of that.  
  
A small misty orb the size of a bludger appeared in between them just then and Blaise excused himself even though the conloquium only allowed the intended recipient the ability to see the caller.  
  
"Yes?" he asked waiting for the caller to reveal himself in the azure haze. He was immensely surprised when his superior appeared. "Sir?"  
  
"We have had confirmation on Granger's whereabouts. She is under the protection of one of our agents and the attack earlier was a ruse to save the cover of an unofficial undercover operative. Wrap it up and get back here for the debriefing."  
  
The orb disappeared as quickly as it had arrived.  
  
He turned and saw Harry in the doorway. "What was that all about?" the man asked.  
  
"Nothing." He moved past him and out the door. "I need to go. If you remember anything important, send me a conloquium."  
  
God damn, he hoped he was doing the right think in not telling Potter. Hopefully, he could get him into training soon and distract him that way.  
  
*****  
  
Exhausted, Hermione stifled a yawn and peeked her head around the doorway leading into the immense ballroom where Draco and Jonathan were bringing furniture from all over the house. Even though the room was already half full, Draco's footsteps still loudly echoing the emptiness she felt inside her heart. She ached for Harry, for the strength she never realized he gave her. It wasn't even as though she'd never spent time apart from him either. There had been four years, about the same time she had finished training for her job, where Harry had worked as Hogwarts' Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher and she was only able to see him during the summer months. But it seemed now as if a lifetime had gone by since that morning so long ago when he had been so worried about her. Her stomach clenched as she thought again about the look on Harry's face that morning.  
  
Noticing her grip on the doorjamb had become so tight that her knuckles were quickly losing their coloring, Hermione determinedly thrust all thought of her best friend away. Dwelling on him would only push her into a depression that she did not want to muddle through.  
  
And what better to distract her than the man in front of her. He had stripped down out of his robes to only a t-shirt and muggle jeans and she couldn't exactly help the fact that her eyes were practically glued to him. She was mesmerized by the play of muscles under the thin shirt he was wearing as he lifted pieces of furniture with his wand while pushing others into place below. Hell, he might as well not have been wearing a shirt at all for all the drooling she was doing.  
  
"Excuse me, sweetheart," Jonathan called from down the hall. Darting out of the way, Hermione leaned against the wall as he passed, floating a table in front of him. Draco had become practically obsessed with tearing the house apart in order to find any secret passages or hiding spaces. Personally, Hermione thought he was taking it a bit far but she wasn't about to admit that to his face.  
  
When Jonathan reemerged, he stood before her looking down on her. "I take it you're done collecting the paintings?"  
  
"No," she groaned. "I still have the third floor to do. I just got tired of arguing with each painting. Did you know that they've been hung in those same positions for almost a century?" she asked bitterly. Jonathan chuckled. "I had no idea but I'm sure you got an earful about it."  
  
"Oh!" she exclaimed, jumping up. "I almost forgot. I found a safe."  
  
He let her drag him upstairs to the larger library and she pointed to the wall where a small box the size of a book was recessed into the light plaster. There were a few spots in the wall that were chipped away as though someone had attempted to pry it loose, but besides that, it was perfectly intact.  
  
"Did the painting that was over it say anything?" Her eyes were strangely drawn to the stained outline showing where the painting had hung forgotten for so long.  
  
Shaking her head, she sat down in one of the oversized, albeit dusty, chairs by the dead fireplace. "Nope, no one was there. It was a landscape." She wondered how long it had been since a fire had roared in the room.  
  
"Odd." Pulling out his wand, he pointed it at the box. "Alohamora." Nothing happened. "Accio safe." Nothing again. He tried a few more spells ("Apertus!" "Patefacio!" "Patens!") but it didn't seem to budge and he shrugged. "Oh well. How about you take a break then, eh? Draco and I are almost done with the first two floors as well."  
  
"Okay," she nodded and pulled her legs up underneath her. "I'll just stay up here and spend time with my friends," she said melodramatically and gestured around to the books that lined the walls.  
  
Snorting, Jonathan raised an eyebrow. "You do that."  
  
His hand was on the ancient brass doorknob when she stopped him.  
  
"Jonathan?" she called, wincing at the meekness of her voice. When he turned, a gentle and patient smile played on his lips. "Do you think you can light the fire?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
For some reason, the room felt so lonely and bleak without the crackle of flames.  
  
*****  
  
Two hours of work had come and gone with nothing to show for it yet Draco still had that nagging feeling, that slight tingle in his senses, that told him something was off. He considered it an unrelenting form of torture, knowing something was wrong but not being able to pin point the culprit. Not that it happened very often. Despite what some people thought, he was not daft. Usually he was on top of things, in control. And now he had lost that control. Maybe that was what was irking him.  
  
Either way, the lack of secret passages, hidden cubbies, even a ghost or two in an antiquated wizarding estate such as this, unnerved him. At least now, it would be easy to spot an intruder since virtually all the rooms on the first two floors were blaringly vacant.  
  
As he ascended the wide wooden staircase, his boot-clad feet resounded loudly, sending thundering echoes through the empty passageways. He paused, his eyes falling closed for a moment and his hand gripping the neglected handrail, reminding himself that his parents weren't there to scold him. How many times had he climbed up to his room just to be berated for not 'stepping quietly?' Too many times to count, that was for sure. Sometimes, at Hogwarts, Pansy would tease him for his 'dainty steps,' as she liked to call it. Idly, he wondered what she would think of him now, were she alive. But it didn't matter now, none of it did. He could stomp up and down these stairs all day if he wanted to.  
  
Silently sighing, he continued climbing the stairs, his treads unconsciously much more subdued than before. He turned right at the landing and wound through the narrow hallway towards the direction of the library. Though the door was only cracked open, he could still feel the heat from the fireplace inside. That was the one thing he hated about large houses. They were always drafty. He had always meant to sell the Malfoy 'cottage,' as he so bitterly had come to refer to it as, but it always seemed as though there was something he needed to do first. And Draco was not one to procrastinate. Perhaps he was subconsciously putting it off.  
  
Dragging himself from his thoughts, he nudged the doors open and snickered. This was the Hermione he remembered. She sat, her back to him, cross- legged, on the hardwood floor (mainly due to the fact that he and Jonathan had confiscated all the furniture earlier much to Hermione's chagrin) with an assortment of timeworn books stacked around her. He could see no apparent order to the piles but he felt he knew Hermione well enough to know that there had to be a method to her madness.  
  
"You planning on standing there and staring at me all day?" she inquired without a trace of sarcasm and not bothering to look up from the musty pages before her.  
  
He cleared his throat. "I was just reveling in the fact that some things will never change."  
  
She turned a page with a flourish producing a noisy swish before rotating her head slightly to the side giving him a brief peek of her cheek. What that accomplished, he did not know. It wasn't as if she could see him from that angle. it was almost as if she were listening to his movements rather than watch them.  
  
"Was that supposed to be an insult?" She said it slowly as if she were painstakingly choosing each word to perfectly fit her meaning, although the notion was silly. It was too simple a sentence, too straightforward in denotation.  
  
Swish. Her attention moved back down to the book in her lap.  
  
"No," he replied in all seriousness. He wanted to join her, to sit by the comforting warmth of the fire, reading obscure tomes and engaging in easy repartee. But he wasn't sure how she would react.  
  
Swish. "Come, pull up a chair," she uttered mock acrimoniously. "Or leave or do something. You're making me nervous just standing there. This place already kind of gives me the heebie-jeebies." Swish.  
  
So it wasn't just him.  
  
"What are you reading?" he asked, sitting in a vacant spot next to her and examining the titles spread around them.  
  
Swish. His eyes narrowed as they focused on her hand. That was becoming quite annoying.  
  
"I'm assuming it's a local history. Not much more than births, marriages and deaths but for some odd reason, I'm enthralled. People's lives are in here."  
  
Swish.  
  
Biting his lip to keep from snapping at her, he chose a volume at random. "Your mind works in ways I have yet to discover."  
  
Pause. Swish.  
  
He wanted to ask her if she was all right and not trying to put up a brave façade for him. Subconsciously, he wanted an excuse to comfort her again, to wrap his arms around her small body and never let go, although he was not about to admit it to himself.  
  
With a sudden clap, she smacked the book closed, sending a plume of dust bunnies whirling in the air. "How long do you think I have to be here for? I mean, I know I'm here until they give up on finding me, but to be perfectly honest, I don't see that happening any time soon."  
  
A knot on the floor suddenly became extremely interesting. "I don't know," he murmured, wishing he could give her a definite time frame. It wasn't her fault she had been dragged into this mess.  
  
Examining the piles around them, she exhaled loudly. "I don't blame you, you know. It's not your fault."  
  
She was more observant that he thought.  
  
She leaned over him then, reaching for a book beside him and her hair slipped exposing the curve of her neck. That simple act blew away all thought from his mind and he found himself tempted.  
  
He really wanted to kiss her again, wanted to touch his lips to the smooth skin at the base of her neck, wanted to know what she tasted like. She must've finally grasped the book because she began to pull away, albeit much slower than before. And as her ear passed mere centimeters away from his face, he had the irrational urge to whisper something to hear her laugh. He wanted to make her feel what she sometimes made him feel. giddy, blithesome, complete. He wanted to touch her and show her what it meant to be touched. He wanted to kiss her and show what kissing could be.  
  
He wanted her. Period.  
  
"Do you remember that last Quidditch match during seventh year? The one between Gryfindor and Slytherin?" she asked softly.  
  
Draco dropped his head. Of course he remembered that game. How could he forget? How could he ever forget?  
  
"Yes," he simply answered, careful to keep as much emotion out of his voice as possible. He had no idea where she was going with this.  
  
Pulling her knees up to her chest and hugging them to her, she looked so childlike, she again brought images of the wood nymph to mind.  
  
"The wind was blowing hard that day; I remember everyone was bundled up so tightly. Looking up at Harry and Ron circling high on their broom, I worried for them. I hoped they were warm enough." She looked over at him grinning and he found his own mouth responding in kind. "Silly, I know, but I remember it like it was yesterday. anyway, the game was long, intense. all of your and Harry's rivalries came down to that one moment and you both knew it."  
  
He wished she would stop talking about it. More than anything, he wanted to forget that moment but every time he came close, something brought it back into sharp focus.  
  
She continued on, oblivious to his discomfort. Her gaze defocused, her eyes flattening with the memory. "You were so close, neck and neck with each other and when Harry slipped his fingers around that snitch, I found I couldn't take my eyes away." Hermione looked up at him through her lashes. "From you, that is."  
  
That was unexpected. "What? Why?"  
  
"It's funny, I had known you for seven years but it wasn't until I saw your face that day did I see the REAL you. It was the first time I felt anything but hatred towards you. And. I honestly wished you had caught the snitch instead of Harry. You seemed to need the victory more than he did."  
  
He digested this, surprised at her candor. She had put herself on the line and he had no idea what to say in return.  
  
Instead, he blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "You were wearing blue that day," he whispered.  
  
Letting out a nervous giggle, Hermione opened the book in front of her but she didn't look at it, instead she sought out his eyes. "Was I?"  
  
"Yeah. I remember thinking it was odd because practically everyone else, excluding the Slytherins of course, were wearing red and gold. but you came in blue."  
  
The smile on her face grew broader and her eyes stared out beyond the room they were sitting in. "I only went to those stupid games out of fear that Ron or Harry would get hurt."  
  
Her sense of dedication to her friends never ceased to amaze him. It also confused him. How could she love so wholly without thought to the consequences?  
  
Giggling again, Hermione buried her head in her hands, inadvertently brushing her shoulder against his. Instantly, the spot tingled and his eyes fell closed at the sensation. It always seemed to be like that with her. Nothing was simple; everything was heightened, everything was complicated.  
  
"Anyway," she said softly, coming out from hiding. "It's funny how things change."  
  
"Yeah, funny."  
  
Hermione stood then and stretched, turning in place to look around the room. "Do you see that?" she question. Draco followed her gaze to a bookshelf that looked identical to all the others lining the walls.  
  
"See what?"  
  
Clucking her tongue impatiently, she walked to the base of the wooden bookcase and, much to Draco's horror, she began to climb it, carefully balancing on each shelf as she made her way up.  
  
"What are you doing?" he demanded, jumping up. "Get down from there, you're only going to hurt yourself."  
  
No sooner had the words left his mouth did the case begin to wobble and Hermione let out a pathetic squeak. Before he could get to her, the whole shelf came toppling down and Draco was blinded by the asthma inducing cloud of dust that billowed from the wreckage.  
  
Charging into it, he squinted down at the tangle of books, scrutinizing the mess for an arm or a leg or anything to signify where she was in the jumble. When he did find her, she was not buried and bruised as he had thought. Instead, she was sitting dazedly to the side appearing quite filthy and sour faced. He couldn't help but laugh. And laugh he did. He couldn't remember the last time he had laughed so hard.  
  
She seemed slightly exasperated with herself and he smiled sympathetically through the tears rolling down his cheeks, crossed over to her and took her into his arms, despite the fact that she was covered in a layer of dust.  
  
"Well, you were wrong. I'm not hurt," she attempted, giving the situation a bit of levity and she smiled feebly.  
  
"You're a mess, though," he pointed out. Gently, he traced his finger down the side of her cheek revealing a strip of pinkish skin. He held out his fingertip and showed it to her.  
  
"So I am." With that said, she yanked herself out of his arms and let out a huge sneeze, which only caused him to start laughing again.  
  
"What were you trying to do?" he asked between gasps for breath. Finally, he was able to control himself. Hermione didn't look too pleased by the fact that he found the situation so humorous.  
  
"There was a book on the top. It didn't have anything written on the spine. and I was curious."  
  
"Or it was just so covered in dust, you couldn't read it. Either way, I don't think you're going to be able to find it now." Draco gestured down at the mess at their feet.  
  
"Yeah, I suppose you're right." A giggle escaped her lips. "If Ron and Harry could hear me now. Telling Draco Malfoy he's right."  
  
"Is that your greatest fear?" he asked suddenly, surprised at himself for blurting the question out like that. She paused in dusting herself off and peered up at him, obviously confused. He elaborated, " Disappointing Potter and Weasley?"  
  
She grinned. "Hardly. If that were true, I would no doubt be dead from fright by now."  
  
He was astonished by this. Did she really think that she failed to meet their expectations? It didn't seem possible to him. He wondered if she was faced with a boggart, what she would see.  
  
"What IS your greatest fear, then?"  
  
He took a few steps back from her and leaned against a bookshelf that was still standing. She was attempting to dust herself off but wasn't doing much more than sending it airborne just to land on her once again and Draco did not want to be caught in the middle of her battle.  
  
"You have to swear upon all that is good and made of coffee that you will tell absolutely no one this."  
  
Draco snorted. "Who am I going to tell? And what is it with you and that disgusting beverage?"  
  
Her hands planted firmly on her hips, she glared at him venomously. "Do you want to know or not because insulting my taste is not the way to go about making me trust you."  
  
"Fine, I promise, I won't say a word." He made a crossing gesture with his fingers over his heart.  
  
"Flying."  
  
"What?"  
  
"I said flying."  
  
"Yes, I heard that. How can you be afraid of flying?"  
  
"Very easily. Now, what about you? What's your greatest fear?"  
  
He considered this for a moment. "Probably the same as when I was at Hogwarts. My father."  
  
"Oh." She gave up on cleaning herself and sat down amiss the rubble. "I don't think I want to know how you dispelled THAT boggart."  
  
"You know, he's really not that terrifying hogtied in his underwear."  
  
She shuddered. "I think I'm going to be scarred for life by that image, thank you very much."  
  
"And here I thought the day that Potter, the floppy haired wonder, cut his locks would be the most scarring experience of your life."  
  
She smiled at him. "A close second, I assure you."  
  
*****  
  
Jonathan stood outside the library, balancing a large platter of food and listening. He could have sworn he had heard-  
  
Yes. There it was again. The startling sound of uproarious laughter could be heard from behind the closed doors and he really didn't want to know what was going on in there. Then again, he was always abnormally curious. Resolutely, he knocked firmly on the door.  
  
When there was no response, Jonathan knocked again, but a bit harder this time. The laughter quieted immediately and after a brief pause, the door was thrown open by a very filthy Draco.  
  
"I, um," Jonathan said softly. "I don't want to interrupt whatever in God's name is going on in here, but I had the house elf make some food." He scrunched his face together. "I can't believe I'm asking this, but why are you covered in dust?"  
  
"Our graceful princess over there decided to play spiderman."  
  
Well, that conjured up some graphic images.  
  
"I was going to suggest that we eat in here but I think it may be a better idea if you go shower first and meet us downstairs."  
  
Draco grinned. "If you think I'm bad, you should see Hermione."  
  
"I really don't want to know. Really."  
  
"Hey, I heard that!"  
  
The door opened wider and suddenly Draco was being assaulted by a huge dust bunny with arms. Each time she connected with his body, a miniature explosion of dust filled the air.  
  
Draco's eyes darkened and he caught her wrists without an effort. "I have no trepidation in placing you under a suspended sleep for the duration of your stay with us. Do not tempt me woman," he snarled. "I'll be in the shower." And with that, he left.  
  
When Jonathan turned back to Hermione, he was taken aback. There was a fierceness in her stance, a burning fire in her eyes that made him glad that he was not on the receiving end of her fury.  
  
"Are you okay?" he asked timidly, afraid that she would jump on him for lack of target. What she did say, he was not expecting.  
  
"He's mean." Her voice resembled that of a little kid whose milk money was taken. Now that Draco was gone, her anger had obviously dissipated leaving her pouting.  
  
"Nah, he's just flirting."  
  
She huffed. "Were you not just in this room? He's horrible."  
  
He didn't want to bring up the fact that she was the one attacking him. She might take it the wrong way and take out her anger on him. "It's the Malfoy mating ritual. What can I say, he's emotionally handicapped and it's his way of letting you know he likes you. You know, five-year-old mentality and all."  
  
"Bleeding brooms, if that's true, he must be dying to shag Harry and Ron."  
  
"Somehow, I doubt it applies to them as well." He gestured down the hallway with his head, wincing as a muscle in his neck tweaked painfully. "Go take a shower so we can eat. I'm starved."  
  
*****  
  
Forty-five minutes!  
  
For forty-five minutes, they had been waiting in the kitchen for Draco to show up. Of course, Hermione wanted to start eating without him but Jonathan insisted that they wait.  
  
What kind of guy takes a forty-five minute shower anyway? Insufferable git. What could he possibly be doing in there? Okay, the perverted half of her mind knew exactly what he would be doing in there, but she preferred not to think about it.  
  
She sat on a tall, swiveling stool at the main island of the kitchen impatiently spinning all the way to the right, letting go and twirling back, just to repeat it to the left this time.  
  
Needless to say, when she finally had had enough of waiting and jumped up, she was so dizzy she teetered slightly before regaining her balance. Jonathan pretended not to notice.  
  
"That's it!" she exclaimed, once the world had stopped swaying. "I can't take it any longer." And she ran up the stairs as fast as her little legs would take her.  
  
Pounding on the door, she realized that he probably was taking his sweet time on purpose, just to annoy her. Of course, this only served to make her pound harder.  
  
The door was flung open but all she was able to get out was the word, "You-- " before she found all speech and thought was blown from her mind. She was frozen. Draco was standing in front of her in nothing but a towel. A towel that was sitting dangerously low on his hips. She looked him up and down from head to toe before realizing what she was doing.  
  
"I, what?" he asked, giving her his patented smirk that used to drive her mad but now. now she felt undeniably aroused.  
  
This was not good.  
  
*****  
  
TBC.  
  
Somebody asked me to email them when I update (since it's so sporadically), so I figured that if I'm going to email one person, I might as well make up a list. If you would like me to email you when I update, email me at jennieslife@yahoo.com or leave your email address in a review. Thanks for reading!  
  
(Anyone notice how many times I wrote email in that paragraph? ::shakes head:: My goodness.)  
  
RESPONSES TO REVIEWS:  
  
slinky: You know, I enjoy post-Hogwarts fics more myself, as well. Maybe it's the level of maturity that the characters have but they seem to be more entertaining to me.  
  
firey fairy: Lol. Yes, I believe you have said that a few times already, but please, don't feel as though you need to stop. And thank you for putting me on your favorites. It means the world to me.  
  
Yin: Tricycle, heh? Interesting...  
  
lily2000: Thank you and I'm sorry that I didn't get this part out all that quickly.  
  
Jody: thanks for your support  
  
Unnamed Reviewer: I am jealous as well. ::drools::  
  
Gothic Temptress: First, I just have to say, I love your name. :) I'm glad that Jonathan is likable. I was a bit worried because I personally *hate* original characters (both reading and writing) and my story is chalk full of them. Odd.  
  
Lady Zane: Okay, so honestly, after reading your review I did not sit down and write but I'm admitting now that I should have. Maybe this part would have gotten out sooner.  
  
Serpent du feu: All I have to say is. yes, there will be some "steamy scenes" as you so nicely put it... maybe in chapter seven or chapter eight depending on how much I write :) And just a quick plug, if you like Draco/Ginny stories look for my ficlet that should be coming out soon entitled "Luring Me to Betray." That one will definitely be steamy.  
  
Little brave Herm: Yay! Another Jonathan lover! Well, I hope you liked this little peek into Jonathan's mind. Thanks!  
  
Tweetgurl: Yes, it would be fun to see Draco squirm if Jonathan and Hermione started anything but alas, I could not do that to my dear Draco. Jonathan will only be a friend in this story.  
  
Depth: yes, well, don't yell at me too much for not posting on time, okay?  
  
Amsev: I'm hoping to keep in as original as possible which is quite hard with the amount of stories out there.  
  
Larhenna: thank you  
  
Potent_ponderer: Really? You think I need a new summary? Anyone else feel this way? Any ideas to improve it?  
  
Until next time.  
  
And don't forget my quiz... can you name the band and song which I took my quote (at the beginning of my story) from? 


	7. The Place That You Have Come to Fear the...

TITLE: Safety in the Storm Chapter Seven AUTHOR: Jennie AUTHOR NOTE: If you would like an update on how the chapters are coming along, I suggest you go to my livejournal at http://www.livejournal.com/users/jadedfrenzy/  
  
Chapter Seven  
  
The Place That You Have Come to Fear the Most  
  
"The grave that you refuse to leave,  
  
The refuge that you built to flee,  
  
Is the place that you have come to fear the most."  
  
--Dashboard Confessional  
  
* * * * *  
  
"Pick your jaw up off the floor, Hermione. It's really not a good look for you."  
  
Her throat worked and her lips mouthed out words of protest, yet all that she managed to audibly get out was a feeble squeak.  
  
The corners of his mouth twitched enough to hint of a smile before he continued. "Am I making you nervous?"  
  
Humiliation was not something that Hermione was not used to or particularly liked and without the guarantee that her voice would be making an appearance, she had no intention of standing there gawking any longer. So she turned and sped down the hall.  
  
When in doubt, flee.  
  
Of course, once she was on the stairs she felt even more humiliated than she would've if she'd simply held her ground and embarrassment quickly flooded into her body making it hard to stay upright.  
  
She couldn't remember ever losing her composure so completely before, well, over a guy that is. She was always calm and levelheaded. And it wasn't as if she'd never seen a half-naked man before. Hell, it wasn't as if she'd never see *him* half-naked before either.  
  
She was determined to be an adult about the entire situation.  
  
With a brief breath to sooth her nerves, she began to climb the stairs once again but found herself hesitating. It suddenly seemed safer to wait until he was dry and fully dressed before she attempted being mature with him. Her insides were all squishy.  
  
Yes, definitely the smart thing to do, she decided, noticing the slight tremor in her hands.  
  
Damn him.  
  
* * * * *  
  
They took dinner upstairs to the library (which Jonathan had the foresight to clean while they both were showering) along with a blanket and a few cushions. As he followed the two onto the landing, Draco couldn't help but pause as a shiver tickled the back of his neck. Glancing down the darkened hall opposite the library a moment, he was unable to shake the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Night was quickly descending, leaving deep shadows throughout the house that flickered in the candlelight and played tricks on his eyes. For a moment, he could've sworn he saw the glint of eyes up on the landing above them but they were gone so quickly, it had to be his imagination.  
  
But once they were settled in the library on their cushions, eating the steaming soup and freshly baked bread, his worries were eased aside. The fire was cozy and warm and they talked softly among themselves as the last of the sunlight faded and the room seemed to darken and close in around them.  
  
"And we weren't able to break the charm on Jonathan for four hours. I had the hardest time trying to explain why a penguin was following me around," Draco finished his elaborately concocted tale depicting one of Jonathan's many transformations into members of the animal kingdom. They were all lies, of course, done only to poke fun at his friend but throughout the first two stories, Hermione looked as though she actually believed him. She even went so far as to ask about the subsequent charms or whatnot that had caused or cured the poor man. This of course egged him on further.  
  
Hermione cleared her throat and peeked at him over her mug before setting the ceramic cup down. "You know, I'm beginning to think you're a compulsive liar."  
  
Maybe she wasn't so gullible after all. "Well, I guess it depends on what you define compulsive as. If you think that compulsive means that I *want* to lie, take *pleasure* in lying--"  
  
"Don't even try to deny it, buddy. I'm on to you."  
  
Draco grinned. "You're right. I'm not fooling anyone. I am a closet compulsive liar. Is this an intervention? If it is, don't you think all my friends should be here?"  
  
Jonathan snickered into his bottle of ale. "Don't kid yourself. You don't have any other friends."  
  
"Oh yeah." He looked to Hermione who was biting her lip in an effort not to laugh. When she noticed him glaring, she went back to drinking her coffee like it was a lifeline, holding it cupped in her small hands.  
  
He'd never met anyone quite like her. She could remain perfectly quiet and still yet she lured his eyes to her, distracting him. She exuded a captivating quality that he could not turn away from. They were big men, Jonathan and him, tall and imposing, but somehow from the moment she entered the library, her small body seemed to fill up the room. She wasn't formidable like them, no she was deadlier than that; she was charismatic.  
  
He watched as she stood and stretched, looking quite adorable in a pair of Jonathan's navy blue boxers, white undershirt and plain socks pulled up over her calves.  
  
"I'm going to take this downstairs," she said, gesturing to the tray of uneaten food and dirty dishes. "I need a refill. Do either of you want anything?"  
  
Shaking his head, Jonathan tossed her his wand and stretched back on the floor, patting his stomach contentedly. "Nah, I'm good."  
  
After Draco shook his head as well, she levitated the tray in front of her and floated it out the room. The minute she was gone, Jonathan pounced.  
  
"So, I noticed that you didn't deny the fact that she was your friend."  
  
Draco sighed. "Men and women can be friends, you know."  
  
"Yeah, I know. It's you and women being friends that I question. I like her, don't go breaking her heart."  
  
Growling in frustration, Draco called a random book off a shelf to him with his wand and smirked as it flew remarkably close to Jonathan's head. "Then I have no chance with her at all. My life is too unpredictable, too cold for lo-a relationship. Besides, it's too hard, too much work. I have enough to worry about right now." He lay back against the floor letting his head thump painfully.  
  
"That's the way *love* works," Jonathan said, stressing the word Draco hadn't been able to say. "People that are meant to be together. well, they have to fight. You don't just meet someone and then life is peachy. It doesn't work that way."  
  
"I can't believe you just said 'peachy.'"  
  
"Don't change the subject."  
  
Truthfully, the word love had left Draco feeling squeamish but not because of the emotion itself. No, he was afraid of ruining her innocence, corrupting her, or making her guilty.  
  
He *wanted* to love her. He wanted to know that she wanted him like he wanted her. He just wasn't sure if it was the smart thing to do. If anything, he needed to keep her safe.  
  
And he would.  
  
* * * * *  
  
The blackness was closing in on her again, brushing its curling tendrils against her exposed arms and face. She wanted to brush them off, swipe them away, but her hands remained tightly bound to the pole behind her.  
  
Her breath hitched as a wave of dizziness swept over her and Ron's strong fingers clumsily fumbled around hers, struggling to reassure her despite his own restraints. They couldn't speak, not out of fear of being heard or for lack of words, but because when they bestirred they found that a silencing charm had been cast.  
  
As terrified as Hermione was, she wished that Harry wouldn't take the bait and try to rescue them. Just as the hope passed through her, the darkness was pierced by the lighted tip of a wand, shining like a confident blue beacon in the dense, tangible shadows. Harry's grim face shone brightly and she jerked against her shackles, attempting to warn him off, to thwart his hopeless rescue endeavor. But it was no use. He paid her silent objections no mind and freed her from her binds quickly before turning to Ron to do the same.  
  
Without notice, an icy cold arm snaked around her waist and jerked her noiselessly away, away from Harry and away from the inviolable brilliant circle of light she so longed to be in, her mouth forming a silent 'oh' of terror. She was consumed by the darkness again and she was afraid it would be the last thing she'd see.  
  
The raucously grating voice by her ear was nasally sardonic and it echoed through the chamber.  
  
"Tsk, tsk, Harry," it hissed. "You haven't learned a bit, have you." The light, now distant at the other end of the chamber of secrets arched around, as if searching. How did they come to be so far so fast? She couldn't remember moving all that way. "You never turn your back on someone you cherish when they're all alone in the dark."  
  
She struggled to get away but the black ice that was holding her tightened around her, piercing into her, her body becoming numb by it.  
  
"Hermione!" she heard Harry call, his voice anguished in despair. She knew what he was thinking. He had failed her. 'Oh, but you didn't,' she longed to yell. She failed him. If only she had been more observant, more attentive to her surroundings, then she wouldn't have been abducted in the first place and he would've had no need to be down there at all.  
  
"You cannot win, Harry. Not in the realm of the dark. I rule here, I am King. and you are all but pawns in my game." Harry and Ron were closer now. Hermione could just make out their faces as they searched the blackness for the owner of the echoing voice. "Now, say goodbye to your beloved hero, mudblood. The hero who could not save you."  
  
Suddenly, the dull pressure of off, the spell dissolved, and her voice vibrated wonderfully in her throat as her scream stabbed at the night.  
  
"Not exactly a goodbye but it'll have to do," the voice rasped and Hermione froze, tears trickling down her cheeks, as a smooth steel knife was drug along the curve of her neck. She knew it wasn't deep but her legs gave way anyway and a quiet sob escaped her lips as she crumbled to the floor. Then the blade was to her throat again, this time slicing deeper, keener into her before a flash of red from Harry sent the knife clattering across the stone floor.  
  
She was so cold.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Gasping for breath, she scrambled up out of bed before realizing where she was. But the darkness, the creepy feel of the place, the muted echoes of her dream; it all came crushing in on her.  
  
It was a dream, she told herself, trying to will her heart to slow its racing and to still her shaking hands.  
  
But it didn't work. Her mind was still back in that chamber and she threw her arm in from of her eyes, trying to blind herself to the images, but the visions persisted. She could not close her eyes against it, for the visions became all the more realistic when her eyes shut. Nor could she turn away, for the images followed her.  
  
Emitting a strangled scream of frustration, she stepped out onto the balcony, letting the freezing air shock some sense into her. It worked; gradually the images faded away until they were once again only memories of past horrors. But the fear and panic were still coursing through her body leaving her shaking and breathless and it was only a matter of time before the tears began to streak down her cheeks.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Draco startled awake, utterly disoriented. Blinking into the darkened stillness of the bedroom yielded no clues as to what had awakened him. He held his breath, listening carefully to the night sounds: crickets chirping in the gardens down below, an owl hooting off in the distance, a hushed sobbing-  
  
Sobbing? He quickly slipped out of bed and pulled on his robe without making a sound, something he did with a practiced ease. The muted crying was obviously Hermione and a million scenarios flitted through his head as he adjusted his grip on his wand. Opting to use the balcony door rather than taking the hallway in case Damien really had found them, Draco turned the knob soundlessly and took a preparatory breath before easing the door open. Much to his surprise, Hermione was curled up in the corner of the double balcony alone. Making sure that there really wasn't a threat lurking around, he took a tentative step towards her form and whispered her name.  
  
When she made no response, gave no sign she even heard, he became concerned and moved toward her.  
  
"You okay?" he whispered, crouching down beside her and running a finger over her cheek, trying to get her attention.  
  
She mumbled something incoherent through her arms, hair and tears.  
  
In that instant, he made up his mind and slipped an arm underneath hers, circling it around her waist and lifting her up off the stone balcony. Her body was cold, freezing really, and as his warmth seeped into her body, she melted into him. A small sound, something akin to a whimper, escaped her lips and she threw her arms around him, burying her face in his neck. Draco wrapped his arms tightly around her as he rocked her gently. His lips softly caressed the curve of her neck of their own accord as he tried desperately to calm her.  
  
* * * * *  
  
She wasn't sure how long he'd held her, stroking her hair and whispering soft, soothing reassurances but slowly her body began to relax and the sobs turned into dry hiccups. Sniffling, she pulled back; suddenly she was afraid of the questions he would ask.  
  
"Hermione," he began and he reached out a hand towards her. Unconsciously, she took a step back and he flinched and dropped his hand back down to his side to fiddle nervously with his wand. He made the tip glow a soft orange reminding her of a flame of a candle. "You're not going to tell me what's wrong, are you."  
  
Sighing, she hung her head and rubbed her arms, trying to get feeling back into them. Silence took over as they both avoided the others' gaze until she could take it no longer and she turned, facing out into the dark night and gripped the strong railing.  
  
He did not say any more, did not pry, but his tone spoke of his frustration, demanded an answer, an answer that she did not want to give.  
  
She relaxed her hands, resting them lightly on the cool stone railing surrounding the small terrace and her breath became ragged as Draco stepped up beside her and covered her left hand with his right one. Without thinking, Hermione turned her hand so their palms were touching and she closed her eyes.  
  
She wanted to tell him. The thought struck her suddenly and she turned it over in her mind a few times, enjoying the weight and warmth of his hand on hers.  
  
"I have dreams," she began softly, keeping her eyes shut. "Nightmares really... about Voldemort... the night Colin died... the night *I* almost died. You know, I'd always thought that I would gladly sacrifice myself for Harry or Ron, but that night-I was scared. I--" She blinked back tears and looked over at him as he stared out into the night, his expression blank. "I realized that the sorting hat had been wrong when he placed me. I was anything but brave, I was anything but a Gryfindor."  
  
Sucking in a breath, she waited, waited for any comment he might make but he remained silent, choosing to instead lace his fingers through hers and give her hand a brief squeeze. They both looked up at the starry night sky and after a few moments, a shooting star streaked right across the middle.  
  
"Did you see that?" Hermione asked. When he didn't answer, she looked up at him. Her breath caught in her throat. His eyes were shut and his mouth was parted slightly, curving gently in a peaceful smile, accentuated by the deep shadows of the night.  
  
"Shh," he said lightly, his smile spreading wider. He was making a wish. Why did it surprise her that Draco Malfoy would wish on a falling star after everything else she had recently learned about him?  
  
"What did you wish for?" she asked when his eyes opened and sought out hers.  
  
"If I tell you, it won't come true."  
  
Warmth spread through her and she knew without a doubt that her nightmares would not be plaguing her again that night.  
  
"Fair enough," she replied, stifling a yawn. Mentally, physically and emotionally exhausted, everything seemed to catch up to her all at once.  
  
He inched closer, his face creeping into the circle of illumination emitted by his wand on the railing between them. All of his features were alight with a misty glow of the imitation flame. and something else.  
  
Something bitter, wistful. Something yearning.  
  
His thumb began to softly trace the back of her hand leaving tingles in its wake. She felt his presence like she felt her own heartbeat; strong and steady, coursing through her veins like molten lava. Heat rose between them, surrounding and saturating them with an undeniable need that had been building since that first kiss a mere two days before.  
  
"You should go to bed soon," she whispered, lost in the swirling blue and grey of his eyes. "You have a big day tomorrow."  
  
The moment she finished speaking she wished she could smack herself. His eyes closed off to her once again, his body visibly flinched, and he recoiled back a step. Oh, why did she have to open her big mouth? It had always been a nervous habit of hers, babbling incoherently during the most inopportune times.  
  
"Yeah, you're right," he mumbled. "Good night."  
  
And with that, he was gone.  
  
With a heavy heart, Hermione rushed to her own bed and hid under the heavy blankets.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Her eyesight was still unfocused as she stumbled into the kitchen the next morning.  
  
"Morning princess. My, what a hair statement you are making today." Jonathan was perched on top of one of the counters, The Daily Prophet in his hands.  
  
Hermione blew him a kiss, and then politely gave him the finger. Peering around, she sighed in relief as she spotted the percolator full of coffee.  
  
"You sure are lovely in the morning," Jonathan continued sweetly. "Or is it just the fact that you didn't wake up next to me again? Because that can be arranged--" He wisely didn't finish the sentence as she twisted a dish towel threateningly. "You're mentioned, by the way."  
  
Gulping down her first cup, she stared at his face blankly then pointed to her forehead. "See this headache, yeah, you're not helping it. Speak sense!"  
  
"Testy, testy." He held up the paper. "The Prophet. There's a story on your disappearance today."  
  
"What? Why?" Crossing over to him, she looked at the page. Suddenly she realized it was open to page three. Page three! What, she wasn't what they deemed front-page news? Thoroughly depressed, she nursed her second cup and pouted.  
  
"It doesn't say much besides the fact that you are missing which is to be expected. The Ministry wouldn't have been able to hush up everything. It makes it sound as though you just up and left on a spur of the moment vacation with a lover, though."  
  
"You'd think Harry Potter's best friend and roommate would be at least on the front-page," she grumbled.  
  
Jonathan laughed. "Is that what you're upset about? The page number? If I were you, I would be more disturbed by this picture of you, but, hey, that's just me." He shrugged in a nonchalant manner and leaned down to examine it further. "Are you drunk?"  
  
At that, Hermione snatched the paper from his hands, looked at the picture and shrieked. "Where did they get this?!" she asked, on the verge of hyperventilation.  
  
"What is that in your hand?" He chuckled as picture Hermione leaned to the side tipsily and only remained standing due to Harry's hand on her arm. "You *are* drunk!"  
  
Groaning, Hermione realized that no doubt the incriminating picture was the work of Fred or George because she could have sworn she had destroyed all the remaining copies. Only they would be daring enough to stow some away. "It's called a microphone. It's a muggle thing. See, you get up in front of the bar and sing a song of your choice--"  
  
"Karaoke? You and the great Harry Potter got drunk and sang karaoke?" Jonathan's mouth dropped open for a moment.  
  
"It wasn't just us..."  
  
"Come on. Not that I'm passing judgment on you, but really. No, actually, I am passing judgment. I think it's disturbing and, quite frankly, terrifying. There are some things you just don't do."  
  
"On that note, I'm going back upstairs to shower."  
  
Quickly pouring herself another cup, she ignored Jonathan's chuckling until he called her back. "Wake up sleeping beauty while you're up there, will you? We need to get going."  
  
After climbing the stairs, Hermione turned to the left towards the bedrooms feeling as though someone were watching her. Glancing around, she saw nothing but shadows and empty halls so she continued down the hallway, knocking softly on Draco's bedroom door. When he didn't answer, she pushed it open and slipped up next to the bed trying to discern exactly where he was in the tangle of bedding.  
  
"Draco, wake up." She poked at the sheet tentatively, not wanting to prod anything that could get her in trouble. "Draco," she tried again, finding his shoulder and giving it a shake. "Jonathan says you need to get up now."  
  
A low groan erupted from the mass of blankets and they moved, exposing his head. She stifled a giggle. His hair was messy and his eyes were blurry with sleep.  
  
"No," he said simply and rolled over onto his stomach, burying himself in the blankets once again.  
  
"Hmm. Fine then," she said, crossing to the door. "It's your cover being blown, not mine." He didn't answer. No doubt, he was already fast asleep and couldn't hear her.  
  
But as she crossed to the door, she grinned as he let out an exasperated sigh and threw off the blankets. Pausing in the open doorway, she listened to the man behind her waking up. He made little sighs and moans as he stretched some wakefulness into his body.  
  
And suddenly she felt his eyes on her, stalled in the doorway and, flushed, she hurried out shutting the door behind her.  
  
TBC.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Somebody asked me to email them when I update (since it's so sporadically), so I figured that if I'm going to email one person, I might as well make up a list. If you would like me to email you when I update, email me at jennieslife@yahoo.com or leave your email address in a review. Thanks for reading!  
  
(Anyone notice how many times I wrote email in that paragraph? ::shakes head:: My goodness.)  
  
RESPONSES TO REVIEWS:  
  
erisnymph: I actually modeled the flirting after my dear friend who is surprisingly 26. And the most remarkable thing is that it actually works for him.  
  
slinky: Yay! Another Dashboard Confessional fan! I made a bet with my fiancé that other people actually listen to them and this just proves me right!  
  
VaderQueen: I changed the summary. is it better, worse, should I just give up and get someone else to do it? :)  
  
Michelle Foxxy: Thank you.  
  
hyper_shark: Because I am a horrible, horrible person.  
  
Serpent du feu: 'Steamy' scenes will be coming but I'm not sure how graphic it will be considering the only two places I post this story is here and at Schnoogle and they both only allow up to rating R. But I will do my best.  
  
QueenOfBananas: Yep, you are entirely correct. :)  
  
Icy Stormz: I'm glad that you find this unique because I am trying very hard not to fall into the cliché pit and copy many of the other d/hr stories out there.  
  
dracosrockstar: To tell you the truth, I wish I updated more often as well. I'm constantly haunted by the fact that my life is too busy to dedicate too much time to writing, especially since I know how it is when you get sucked into a story and then you have to wait forever for the author to update. Hopefully, when this term is over next month, I'll be able to sit down and churn out a good portion of this story.  
  
Tweetgurl: ::Cringes:: Sorry it took so long!  
  
Naurhen: To be perfectly honest, begging does help. It makes me feel guilty and then I ditch my fiancé for a night and force myself to forget about school so I can write. Just don't tell him that.  
  
firey fairy: God, I wish that when I was in high school, I knew about Fanfic. I would've totally read stories in my keyboarding class rather than all those hours I logged playing solitaire.  
  
Nysa: Cliffhangers are what I try to leave off in just cause I believe I'm truly a Slytherin at heart. But alas, there aren't many points I consider to be a cliffy so you're lucky.  
  
AmyM: If Draco got any sexier, then he wouldn't even be able to walk down the street without being accosted by each person he passed. I hope you have survived thus far despite my irregular posting.  
  
If you would like an update on how the chapters are coming along, I suggest you go to my livejournal at http://www.livejournal.com/users/jadedfrenzy/ 


	8. But the Hours, They Creep

TITLE: Safety in the Storm Chapter Eight  
  
AUTHOR: Jennie  
  
AUTHOR NOTE: If you would like an update on how the chapters are coming along, I suggest you go to my livejournal at http://www.livejournal.com/users/jadedfrenzy/  
  
Author Note #2: Edited to add a brief disclaimer. I borrowed one of Damien's lines from one of Zahn's Star Wars novels and for the life of me, I can't remember which one. I quoted it by memory so no doubt it is not even remotely like the original line, just similar. (One day, when I have time, I will dig through my copies and find out exactly which book it was from.)  
  
Author's Note #3: There are many things I would like to attribute the lateness of this chapter to.  
  
1. The Catcher in the Rye for intriguing me enough to make me dedicate an entire week of free time to it. 2. My sister, Shayla, and her insomnia for those late nights working on her webpage 3. My co-worker's husband who thought it would be sweet to take her on a second honeymoon, therefore leaving me to work 55+ hour weeks (damn romance). 1. The holidays and the subsequent bills that followed. No more needs to be said, I think. 2. Tobey, my cat, who recently discovered the joys of catching birds, taking them upstairs to my bedroom, letting them go, and then devouring them, leaving the room in a blanket of feathers. 3. Kazaa, for the wonders of allowing me to download episode after episode of my favorite TV shows (I love you Sark!) and get hooked on others I had never seen. 4. Queer as Folk (see above) 5. The Harry/Draco ship. sometimes when reading some of those angstyly romantic fics, I think that they are the only realistic Draco ship. plus the writers are absolutely fabulous; they make me cringe when I think back to my simplistic writing. 6. And lastly, my erratic menstrual cycle, without which I wouldn't have those pesky panic attacks when I go three months without having one. Too much information? Yeah, I thought so too.  
  
Oh, well. Happy reading!  
  
Safety in the Storm Chapter Eight  
  
But the Hours, They Creep  
  
This ruined puzzle,  
  
It's faced with the pieces all face down.  
  
So the placing goes slowly,  
  
The picture's of anything,  
  
Other than it's meant to be.  
  
But the hours, they creep;  
  
The patterns repeat.  
  
--Dashboard Confessional  
  
The steam from the shower had made its way into the bedroom, taking a bit of the chill away and Hermione found herself dressing unrushed for the first time in a while. With the towel twisted tightly about her head absorbing the water from her dripping hair, she reflected on all the things she took for granted in day-to-day life when she used her wand. One thing was for sure, her hair was certainly missing the conveniences of a wand as well. As she bent down to pick up her jeans, the towel loosened its hold a bit and she was so intent on fixing it that she almost didn't hear the soft rapping against the door.  
  
Almost.  
  
"I'm getting dressed, hold on!" she called but apparently Draco did not understand what she said (or simply chose to ignore it), because he opened the door, catching her in her knickers, teetering slightly under the off- balance weight on her head. Letting out a scream, she dove behind the bed, wishing the floor would swallow her up.  
  
He chuckled deeply and she risked a peek over the edge of the bed at him. Narrowing her eyes at his smirk, her searching hands found the large t- shirt that Jonathan had loaned her to sleep in and she quickly slipped it on.  
  
"Sorry," was his meek response. Well, at least he did seem a tad uncomfortable.  
  
"Sorry?" Standing up and struggling into her jeans, she marched over to him and poked him squarely in the chest. "With your breeding I would expect you to know that it's not polite to enter a girl's bedroom uninvited."  
  
He grinned even wider and leaned in close to her, an eyebrow arched. "Well, to be perfectly honest, that's never been a problem for me."  
  
The full weight of his response hit her and she swatted him on the arm in return. "Ugh! Out! Get out!" She pointed and stomped her foot to emphasize her point.  
  
"But you're dressed now."  
  
She looked down. So she was. Well, that was beside the point. "Well, get out anyway!" she said stubbornly.  
  
Shaking his head and snickering, he left.  
  
By the time she was completely dressed, cloak and all, her heart had slowed its erratic rhythm and she didn't feel quite so flustered. It was funny, but Draco Malfoy seemed to be the only person who could turn her into a self-conscious teenager in a matter of seconds. How did he do it? Sure, he was good looking, but she was friends with many handsome men and they never made her legs turn to jelly like he did. In fact, now that she thought about it, his mood swings were annoying as hell and his arrogant smirks were more infuriating than they had been when they were at school.  
  
Twisting her long, still dripping hair into a large bun on the top of her head, she darted down the stairs towards the kitchen where she knew the two men were.  
  
Yes, Draco was aggravating beyond anything she had ever experienced, but then there would be those moments. those moments where he would look at her and smile and she would instantly know everything would be alright.  
  
Entering the kitchen, she spotted Draco sitting at the counter pouring over some parchments in front of him. Just the sight of him made her grin. He was chewing on the end of a very scraggly quill and when he caught sight of her, he half-smirked (although it resembled more of a boyish grin than anything) and the quill trailed off to the side of his mouth.  
  
Yep, it was moments like that where he was so unbelievably adorable in his own grumpy way that she wanted to kiss him senseless.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Jonathan looked from Draco to Hermione and back again, trying hard not to give in to the chuckle that was building in his throat at the shy smiles the two were exchanging. Ah, the wonders of new love, he thought a tad sarcastically and then remanded himself. Lack of sleep tended to make him bitter and he determinedly made up his mind not to take it out on them. But he still wasn't in the mood to face their whole "Oh-you're-just-the- best-thing-since-Quidditch-except-I-don't-want-to-tell-you" routine.  
  
You could practically swim in the drool.  
  
"Hi," Hermione said simply, her eyes downcast and a faint coloring tinting her cheeks.  
  
Frowning, Draco seemed perplexed. "Hey," he replied, brows furrowed. Hermione obviously didn't know what to make of the sudden mood swing but Jonathan knew exactly what had happened.  
  
He winked at the scowling man and grinned; Draco never lost his tongue like that.  
  
"What?" she demanded, looking up towards the heavens as if asking what she did to deserve being stuck there. "What did I do now?" As she was advancing on Draco, Jonathan glimpsed her wild eyes and discreetly hopped down from his perch on the counter and crossed to where the coffee was.  
  
He stood there, blocking the pot from her view, examining his nails, and wondering if there was any way he could sneak the entire pot out of the room without her noticing.  
  
But she quickly countered on him. "What are you doing?" she asked suspiciously, her frustration with Draco temporarily forgotten. "Are you hiding something?" He didn't answer as her eyes swept the room trying to ascertain what was missing. It didn't take her long. "Why are you hiding the coffee?"  
  
Stuttering, he adjusted his stance as she attempted to peek around him. "No, of course not," he stammered. "I don't even know what coffee is. Is it a muggle thing? Draco, have you ever heard of coffee before?" Shooting a pleading look towards his friend, he saw him obstinately look away. He obviously wanted to stay out of the line of fire.  
  
Selfish prat.  
  
No way was he going to give that deranged woman more caffeine. No, the only thing that would help her now wasn't more stimulation, but sedatives-a lot of sedatives.  
  
But the lines of vexation on her face, the flashing of her eyes, and the coiled tightness of her body made it apparent that confronting her, getting in her way, wouldn't be a healthy thing.  
  
Sighing, he grabbed the pot and handed it over. "Fine, take the damn stuff. You do know you have a problem, right?"  
  
She didn't answer, instead opting to shoot him a withering glare before sitting next to Draco.  
  
Quickly, he turned his attention to his watch and the smirking man in front of him. "Come on Draco, I need to beat the shit out of you now," Jonathan said lightly, although it was going to be one of the hardest things he'd ever had to do. The smirk was immediately replaced by a resigned frown and a glance at Hermione showed a mirrored expression.  
  
Grimacing, he realized just how much was on the line for all of them.  
  
It was going to be a trying day.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Sirius had left a few hours before dawn, leaving Harry with nothing to do but restlessly pace the small house. Hermione was a quiet person by nature, what with most of her free time dedicated to reading in the worn chair by the fire, but now the house seemed too quiet. eerily still. It was a deafening silence that made it difficult to focus his thoughts, instead leaving him feeling jumbled and paranoid.  
  
But then again, he knew it was most likely due to the grief and anguish that was threatening to consume him for his utter inability to decide what to do. Should he believe what she said and patiently wait for her to come home on her own? Or should he follow his gut feeling and hold a wand to Zabini's head until he revealed all that he knew?  
  
His head ached and he found himself squinting into the veiled darkness, realizing for the first time that he was sitting on her bed. The room still smelled of lavender and disinfectants and his eyesight swarmed as fresh tears were blinked away.  
  
"Harry!" Ron's voice bellowed from the front of the house and Harry swiped at his cheeks hastily. "Harry Potter, where are you?" It was funny but when Ron got mad, he tended to sound just like his mother. Just don't tell him that. He doesn't like it.  
  
They met in the hall, neither knowing quite what to say. That is, until Ron held up the Prophet. "Why didn't you tell me, Harry? I had to find out in the paper?"  
  
He sighed and hung his head. "Ron, I thought she would be back before you needed to know. and then, well, you have a family now. You need to think of your kids. I don't want you following me and getting yourself killed."  
  
The weight of his sentence seemed to hit his best friend all at once. "She's really in danger, isn't she. I mean, I suspected but."  
  
"I'm not really sure. She said she was fine but I don't know if I should believe her. I don't even know where to find her."  
  
"Bloody hell, Harry! I could've had this resolved days ago! Is she wearing the necklace we gave her?"  
  
"What? Oh, I'm pretty sure. Why?" He trailed after Ron as he stormed into the kitchen.  
  
"I placed a bloody locator charm on it, that's why. Look, I have a meeting with the Minister today. I have to be there. Afterwards, meet me in front of Gringots with your broom and I'll activate the charm. Promise me, Harry. Promise me you won't go off doing anything without me. She's my friend too."  
  
Of course he promised.  
  
* * * * *  
  
The house seemed colder than usual and, as he limped through the foyer threshold, Draco found his body wracked with unwanted chills. He was not afraid of Damien Bradford. Never had been. Damien was cruel, intelligent, powerful, patient, callous, and everything that an evil overlord should be, but in Draco's eyes, he was missing something. He never could put his finger on exactly what it was that made it impossible to fear the man, but all the same, it didn't really matter.  
  
Even though he had never feared Damien, Draco had a nagging sense of foreboding while standing prone in the damp hallway. He had the feeling that this time, things wouldn't turn out so well. Gathering his wits, he made his way to the conference room in the back where Draco knew a meeting was taking place. Only hesitating a second, he pushed open the door and patiently waited to be noticed.  
  
It didn't take long.  
  
"Oh, look. Malfoy, child prodigy, is back." All eyes focused on him at Damien's words. "And without my *fucking* charm!" A moment later, Draco found himself slammed against the wall by an unexpected spell from Damien. "Tell me you have the information I need. Tell me there's a reason you're alive right now."  
  
Thanks to Jonathan, Draco already had what he suspected were a few broken ribs and the invisible force pinning him to the wall was making it extremely difficult and painful to breath. "No," he replied through gritted teeth. Unwillingly, his eyes flicked over to Jonathan who was seated at the head of the table with a neutral, uninterested look on his face. But the other men around the room looked utterly shocked at his insolent answer.  
  
Damien regarded him for a moment, a terrifyingly calm expression on his face and then the intangible binds vanished, sending Draco sprawled on the floor. "We will talk later," he finally said, his voice so low, Draco almost didn't hear him. "Now, Mr. Malfoy, have a seat."  
  
Silently, Draco pulled himself up off the floor, all his concentration on not crying out at the pain, and moved to Hannad who was in his usual chair towards the head of the table. When the man did not move, Damien slammed a fist down onto the table, rattling the cups and sloshing a bit of tea into the saucers.  
  
"We are entering a time where it is imperative that this impertinent attitude that some of you seem to have is eliminated. or *you* will be eliminated. Do I make myself clear?" His rage was calculated and comprehensive, leaving no one in the room feeling safe enough to move or speak.  
  
After a moment's hesitation, Hannad stood and the entire table shifted over a seat, leaving Draco's vacant. Once all the attention was back on Damien, he straightened himself and slowly looked around the room.  
  
"Over the past two months I have slowly made secret advances in the wizarding world. Those that I wished to be made public, such as the murder of the Minister's wife, have indeed made it to the public's awareness, yet are seen as separated, isolated events. It is time to change that." He paused, as if waiting for a comment or question but, of course, everyone remained silent, waiting. They would wait all day if they had to. "We have not made them fear us yet," he continued, his voice growing louder. "But there are still shadows they will not enter thanks to my predecessor, Voldemort, which we can use to our advantage. And the most prominent of these is the fear that the horrors of the past will be repeated."  
  
The table was utterly void of noise; Draco thought that the entire room had sucked in a collective, excited breath.  
  
"Tonight will be the starting point of our cause. It will be the culmination of many years of work and Jonathan will brief you all individually on your part in the." He trailed off, searching for the exact word he wanted to use and Draco noticed an unusual glint in the man's eye. "The ritual."  
  
The word startled Draco and he had to fight to keep his countenance from betraying the turmoil in his mind. He had expected kidnapping or mayhem or even murder. But definitely not ritual. That word held so many possibilities, it would be almost impossible to predict what to expect. It meant that Damien was planning on summoning power or magic or invoking *something* to aid him in 'purifying' the world. Any way he looked at it, it didn't bode will. Dealing with Damien was one thing, but dispelling ancient magic was something completely different.  
  
A quick glance at Jonathan proved that his assumption was true. There was a grimly determined set to his jaw, a look reserved for only the direst of times. As Damien dismissed his faithful disciples, Draco wondered if he could sneak a quick word in with Jonathan to get an idea of what was to happen later than night but just as he was about to stand, a strong hand clamped down on his shoulder.  
  
"Follow me." Once more, the entire congregation focused on him, no doubt contemplating whether they would ever see him again. But Draco knew better. If Damien had wanted to dispense of him, he would have done so the moment he interrupted the meeting. No, he was not going to be killed. that day, at least. For the moment, Damien still viewed him as useful and now, all Draco had to do was figure out what was keeping him alive.  
  
He was led up the stairs and Draco didn't realize where they were headed until he passed the forest landscape framed in dark mahogany. Entering the bedroom where Hermione had been held captive, he focused on keeping his face as impassive as possible.  
  
Fingering the thick bed curtain, Damien cleared his throat quietly, lost in thought. "Were you surprised?" he finally asked, looking him straight in the eye.  
  
A wave of panic threatened to swell over him but before it could come to a crest, he shoved all the emotion back down, deep inside.  
  
"Surprised?" His voice was impatient and suspicious and he didn't try to hide it; they were common emotions for him to display.  
  
"You went to Hogwarts with her, did you not?" Ah, so that was his game.  
  
Draco called his bluff. "She was a Gryfindor."  
  
Damien smiled, flashing a row of pearly white teeth. "I always found the separate house system here fascinating. In the states, we don't have them, you see. It must have been difficult being surrounded by those with like minds all the time."  
  
Morbidly curious as to where he was going with this, Draco shrugged. "I managed," he replied vaguely.  
  
Nodding, Damien straightened the blankets on the bed. "And I hear that the inter-house rivalries are practically a tradition."  
  
"Is there a point to this?"  
  
"Let me cut to the chase then." Damien sat and regarded him coldly. "I don't trust you. I never have. Your father was a fool who had his priorities mixed up and I am afraid to see some of the same tendencies in you."  
  
Growling, Draco took a few steps forward, enough to seem imposing but not enough to actually pose a threat. "I don't give a bloody fuck what you think," he barked. "I am not a part of this organization because of your charming personality. I am here because of your ideals, your cause."  
  
Damien jumped up. "And *that* is why you are still alive. Many of the men here are lost little boys who are only in this cause because Voldemort or another old-school reformer told them to. They can't think for themselves; the only regurgitate what has been ingrained in their minds. If I suddenly disappeared tomorrow and no one took my place, do you think they would still hold the same ideals? No, they would go running and sniffling to Duff and Dumbledore as their forefathers before them. You, on the other hand, are here because of your beliefs, and while I may not like you, you cocky son-of-a-bitch, I need more men like you around."  
  
"Besides," he added. "Jonathan has complete confidence in you and anyone he trusts, I'll give a bit of leeway to."  
  
Draco nodded, feeling more reassured about his position. "What's going to happen tonight?"  
  
"Not so fast. We still have another matter to discuss. How the hell did my little charms researcher get past you unarmed?"  
  
* * * * *  
  
Only an hour after Jonathan and Draco left her alone, Hermione found herself becoming restless. It felt like instead of being on the so-called run, she had spent a lifetime sitting and waiting. The cauldron beneath her simmered quietly as she occasionally stirred the yellowish potion clockwise with a ladle. Normally, she would've used her wand to magic the mixing but she was still left without hers.  
  
She, above all else, loved a place with history and under normal circumstances the manor probably would've enthralled her to no end, but her life had taken such a drastic turn, she hardly felt safe in her own skin, much less in an unfamiliar mansion. Besides, her mind kept replaying the morning's events and much to her dismay, focused mostly on Draco. She had left the room at the insistence of the two men, which she was secretly thankful for. She really didn't want to witness Draco in pain.  
  
Taking a stroll outside in the back gardens, the wild flora that twisted around every bend had intrigued her and she quickly lost track of time. Not wanting them to leave without saying goodbye, she hurried back and was about to open the door when a harsh cry from inside startled her.  
  
The ground seemed to instantly turn to a solid block of ice, freezing her feet in place and sending a violent shudder up her legs.  
  
"Draco," she heard Jonathan murmur compassionately. "Please let me heal you a bit. I went too far-"  
  
"No!" Draco's voice was hoarse and weak but still commanded authority and respect. But then he was wracked with a strong couching fit and Hermione squeezed her eyes closed, wishing she had the strength to run away.  
  
She tried to tell herself that she was in another place-in her gardens back home!-but the awful choking and gasping sounds kept bringing her back to exactly what reality had become.  
  
She wasn't sure what shocked her more, the fact that she as in hiding with Draco Malfoy or that she trusted him implicitly. But it didn't matter. None of it did. They were walking a fine like now and one little slip-up could be fatal. And Draco was risking life and limb on the other side of the decrepid door, for the safety of not only her, but also the entire wizarding world.  
  
Shaking her head sharply, she ordered her mind to be quiet and turned her attention back down to the bubbling pot. But her relief was short-lived because her consciousness soon began replaying Draco's hoarse gasps over and over again in a nagging sort of background noise.  
  
One's mind, after all, rarely obeys its own commands.  
  
At long last, the liquid faded from amber to a washed out, waxy yellow and Hermione quickly removed it from the flame.  
  
Unable to hold still, Hermione had found Jonathan's, untouched if not sparse, potion ingredient supply in a pantry off the kitchen and, after taking a quick inventory, made the first potion that came to mind: an instant paint refurbisher. Because gods knew the place needed it. She had learned about the potion, ironically enough, in detention with Harry during their fifth year. Snape had thought it amusing to have them spruce up the dingy paintings around the castle. Hermione had never realized just how many there were, but after that night, she could give an accurate count, give or take a few that were hidden away in the professors' personal rooms.  
  
Pouring the concoction into a spray bottle Natty, the house elf had procured for her, she tiptoed into the hall, realizing just how alone she was. Her footsteps echoed loudly through the empty corridors and she decidedly left her shoes on the floor as she ascended the stairs. First, she would spray the walls in their bedrooms and then she would see about the other rooms. The house wouldn't be so bad if it had a bit of sprucing up.  
  
As she turned down the hall, she stopped and, holding her breath, she listened. Very distinctly, she could hear soft footsteps coming from above her and immediately her heart began hammering painfully in her chest.  
  
She was not alone.  
  
And then she had an even more terrifying thought.  
  
She was *unarmed* and alone.  
  
The footsteps stopped and the sudden silence seemed deafening. Hermione wasn't sure how long she stood there, barely breathing, struggling to hear anything to prove she was not losing her mind, but after a while, the tension eased out of her body and she shrugged to herself. Her imagination was running away with her again.  
  
Continuing on to Jonathan's bedroom, she quickly got to work, spritzing the walls and grinning as they magically brightened to it's original vibrancy. In no time, she was finished and making her way back to the stair case, subconsciously pausing and glancing up to the landing above her.  
  
It was hard to see up the stairs, mainly due to the fact that the heavy draperies still entombed the rooms upstairs in perpetual darkness. Draco had told her that he had explored the entire upstairs and she had accompanied him through most of it herself. She knew there was nothing up there, nothing to be afraid of, only elaborately carved ornamental furniture and the occasional knickknack, yet she still hesitated on the bottom step.  
  
Not really knowing what she was doing it, she found herself climbing the staircase, holding on to the railing with sweaty palms. Once at the top, she squinted to the left and right, letting her eyesight adjust to the cimmerian hallways.  
  
Nothing.  
  
Carefully, she stepped lightly to the left where the hallway ended in a floor-to-ceiling window. It took her a moment, but once she got the drapery propped up out of the way, her confidence began to grow. It was funny what a little light could do.  
  
Still moving cautiously though, she opened the first door and opened the curtains. But the time she'd finished with all the rooms in the left hall, her worries had all but dissipated. The right hallway though, was another story. Instead of a floor length window, a large mirror covered the entire wall giving everything it reflected a sinister look.  
  
Wishing she had her wand, if only for a simply lumos spell, she opened the first door and found a sitting room with a large terrace. Instantly, she shivered. The room seemed colder than the rest of the house. The curtains were already open so she turned to move on but a brief movement out of the corner of her eye halted her. Hermione waited, seeing noting that could have moved. But then she saw it again.  
  
The tapestry.  
  
It moved.  
  
The image itself was a disturbing one. It looked to be a 17th century religious work depicting a horrendous battle between a group of badly beaten men and an army of haunting skeletons. Why an old Wizarding house would have a muggle tapestry was beyond her but it didn't matter.  
  
All that mattered now was that it was moving.  
  
Hefting a large candelabrum off the desk and holding it out in a defensive manner, she inched sideways, maintaining the same distance but gaining a sidelong view. It was flush to the wall. Nothing could be hiding behind it. Slowly gaining confidence, Hermione made her way to the edge and, after a brief internal pep talk, she violently yanked the heavy material away from the wall and brandished her makeshift weapon threateningly.  
  
But the heavy, silver candelabrum was no use from what she found.  
  
A door.  
  
A door that was slightly open, letting the occasional brief breeze in, making the tapestry and her heart flutter. Nervously, she edged the door open and cringed as it creaked loudly in defiance. Idly, she wondered how long it had been since someone had stepped through the threshold and up the spiraling stairs beyond it.  
  
She began to climb.  
  
The air was surprisingly clean and fresh; the coldness was a shockingly harsh blast of reality. But the rock walls and steps around her were covered in moss and mildew making it difficult to climb the steep stairs without a handhold.  
  
She had ascended what felt like an entire floor when she came across a green paned glass door, so scratched and cracked she could hardly see through it to the room beyond. But once she did find a clear view, her breath caught in her throat. Before her was a dirty, broken, timeworn but wildly thriving green house. Surprisingly, the plants that hung from the shattered ceiling panes and covered the walls and tables with a wild abandon forming an intense jungle, had not died when left without a caretaker. No, instead they flourished.  
  
Getting the door open proved to be quite a challenge and left her with a few cuts and slashes from the broken shards of glass but once she was inside the terrarium, surrounded by such a wide variety of flora to make any botanist jealous, she forgot all about her injuries.  
  
* * * * *  
  
They were not safe to talk freely. Draco knew this the moment he stepped into the room.  
  
"Have a seat, Malfoy." Jonathan stood and walked around the table once Draco had sat down. Once he was leaning against the desk in front of him, Jonathan pulled out his wand. "Take off your shirt."  
  
Taken by surprise, Draco grinned. "You know, I'm not sure but I believe that's considered sexual harassment and 'I don't have to take it.'"  
  
Jonathan did not smile, just stared at him blandly. "At this point, healing is optional for you."  
  
So Draco stripped without reservation and was insanely grateful when the searing pain that had been tormenting his body faded into a warm tingle. Jonathan even went so far as to slip him a small vial containing a headache- relieving potion before he sat, ready to get down to business.  
  
"First, there is the matter with your missing wand. You will flue down to Diagon Alley as soon as we're done here and get a replacement."  
  
Draco nodded, absently noting that it would be handy to have two wands on his person.  
  
"Your task today is to help prepare for the night's ceremony so you need to hurry back as soon as you're done. It will be simple things such as moving the supplies down to the lake, creating the alter and platform, etc., but it will be time-consuming." Jonathan leaned forward slightly. "It's going to be a long day," he intoned deeply, his weariness betrayed by his eyes. "Damien will give you further details when you get back. It is an exciting time, right now. Our goals are no longer lingering on the horizon. Tonight they will be made tangible."  
  
Flinching imperceptibly, Draco nodded once again. These meetings tended to be mostly one-sided anyway. He was dismissed and as he slowly made his way to the fireplace, he rubbed a hand across his stubbled chin, forcing back the sense of dread gnawing at him. Giving into fear and panic would only rob him of the ability to think, and that was the last thing he could afford to lose at this point.  
  
It was just all moving so fast; he had had no time to prepare. He wasn't cut out for this hero crap anyway. Draco wished he could call up Potter, tell him what was happening, and step back while the Boy Wonder saved the day. Things would be so simple. But then a little nagging voice questioned from the back of his mind, why *couldn't* he? Why couldn't he let Potter take the reins?  
  
Would Potter even believe him if he tried? Probably not. But he *would* believe Hermione. The question was, would she willingly involve her best friend in yet another life and death situation? And what would happen if Potter was hurt or died? She would blame him. Was he willing to risk any chance with Hermione, whether it be friendship or more, because of his cowardness?  
  
It was definitely something to think about.  
  
* * * * *  
  
After a thorough exploration of the green house, Hermione found she was more impressed by the plants' sheer domination of the room than the plants themselves. So she left, slipping the few cuttings she had made into her cloak pocket and carefully tiptoeing around the glass shards that littered the floor. Leaving the enormous candlestick where it was resting on the floor in the doorway, she climbed higher until the steps opened up to the roof. The railing had long since rotted away, along with the rusted table and chairs but Hermione could picture the way it once had looked: magical white lights twinkling around a group of close friends as they sipped wine and laughed and talked and looked at the stars.  
  
She ended her daydreaming and sighed, looking out at the crisp snow down below that lay on the ground like a glittering blanket of sugar. Winter had set in fast, without her noticing and the air frosted her breath before it even left her mouth. Realizing just how numb her sock-clad feet were, she took one last glance around before quickly descending the steep staircase. Once back at the bottom, she retrieved the paint renewal potion and stepped back into the dim hallway to head back downstairs, her adventureness and curiosity sated for the time being. But as she turned towards the mirror at the end of the hall, a scream rose in her throat and the potion bottle fell to the floor in panic.  
  
There was a man standing behind her, so close she could see the greasiness of his blonde hair.  
  
As if in slow motion, the man raised his head, making eye contact and reached forward to grab her shoulders, turning her to him. His hands were icy but Hermione barely felt them.  
  
"You aren't supposed to be up here," he said softly, but the man's impeccably groomed mustache twitched sinisterly as he grinned, ruining the gentleness in his voice.  
  
Before she had a chance to respond, his mouth was pressed frantically against hers. Suffocating panic threatened to overwhelm her as she struggled for release, making feeble motions against the arms that held her captive. Fear lodged itself in her heart as she suddenly realized how strong he was, and just how alone she was.  
  
And just as abruptly as the kiss had started, he pulled away, his breath reeking of alcohol and something acrid. It reminded her of the pickled beets her grandmother used to can and she gagged violently as soon as his lips parted from her, hot tears streaming down her cheeks.  
  
Blindly, she pushed past the man and stumbled down the stairs, not stopping until she found herself outside, ankle deep in snow. Slowly falling to her knees, she tried to urge herself to keep going, to keep running far away from the house, but her body was so weak and shaking from fear that it remained where it was as she retched over and over again, until she could hardly breath and her body collapsed beneath her. She stayed there, lying in the snow for no reason in particular, feeling the freezing wetness seep through her cloak and into her body and she took a distinctly harsh pleasure in it.  
  
* * * * *  
  
They left Diagon Alley by broom just as the sun was beginning to set. Harry glanced back over his shoulder to see Ron wincing, trying to seat himself comfortably on the thin handle. It had been years since Ron had touched, much less rode on a broom, and it showed. But Harry didn't blame him. Ron had grown immensely after their sixth year and to see his large stature slouched over a seemingly tiny broom made him grin.  
  
"Harry!" Ron yelled over the rushing wind. although, technically, Harry thought, it wasn't so much the wind that was rushing, it was them. "Turn north! The compass is showing north!"  
  
So north they turned, the wind pushing at their backs, ushering them along.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Hermione felt numb, completely, totally, mindlessly numb.  
  
Even the snow had lost it's comforting bite and she felt detached, as though she could almost step back from her body and observe herself from afar. The logical part of her brain insistently yelled warnings but she refused to listen. It seemed so much easier when she ignored it. She was floating now, and she didn't want to come back down.  
  
And then the world of sensation came crashing back to her as something continually poked her arm.  
  
"Is the miss alright?" a tiny voice asked, and then the curious face of Natty, one of Damien's house elves on loan to Jonathan, came into view. A thousand needles began to pierce her flesh as the intense pain of the snow came back to her and she struggled for breath through her chattering teeth. When Hermione didn't answer, Natty, a bit more cautiously, continued. "I make a fire in the library. I make more coffee for the miss. Come, come."  
  
And so, quite painfully, Hermione dragged herself to the kitchen door and only when she crossed the threshold, her knees barely able to hold her up, did she remember why she was outside in the first place.  
  
"Natty, there was a man." The panic surged back into her, causing her to stagger. "Did you see a man?"  
  
"No man.." She blinked up at Hermione warily. Well, that was just great. She was scaring the house elf. "Master Jonathan and the other mister is gone."  
  
Impatiently, Hermione crossed to the fire and collapsed before it, trying desperately to warm her trembling body. The heat burned, even from the distance she was at, but she dared not pull away.  
  
"This is a different man. upstairs. the third floor."  
  
"No, Natty is told not to clean the third floor-only cook and clean bedrooms and clothes. Master Jonathan is very clear: no more cleaning."  
  
"That's right," Jonathan's rich voice chimed in from the doorway to the hall. When Hermione looked to him, his lips were drawn into a tight line. He looked worried. "No need for little Natty here to run her tail off cleaning rooms that will never be used." He seemed to really look at her and she could see a flash of concern cross his face. "What happened?" Sitting down next to her on the rug, he pulled her into his lap. "You're an ice cube," he admonished, striping her of her soaked cloak and when Jonathan looked down at her, she could see her blue-tinted lips reflected in his eyes.  
  
"There was a man," she began, but no more seemed to be coming. Flustered, Hermione smiled faintly through the mist of tears clouding her eyes and snuggled closer to his chest, seeking his warmth.  
  
"A man? Here? Was he-no, it couldn't be. What did he want? What did he do?"  
  
Not quite believing it happened herself, she was a bit hesitant in telling somebody else. "He kissed me," she said, her voice a ghost of a whisper.  
  
"What? I didn't hear you, sweetheart."  
  
"He kissed me," she said again in a more confident voice than she actually felt. A sad smile fleetingly touched her lips as he remained silent. She didn't blame him for not believing her. Finally, she couldn't take the silence any longer and she looked up at his face. The muscles in his arm were tense under her hand and his forehead creased with frowning.  
  
"He kissed you," he repeated slowly, who knows how many different scenarios playing out in his mind. No doubt many of them revolved around her impending insanity.  
  
"Yes." Her voice was near a whisper again and she struggled to look him in the eyes.  
  
Taking a deep breath, he shrugged out of his cloak, wrapped it around her, and shifted them into a more comfortable position in front of the hearth. "Why don't you start at the beginning?"  
  
* * * * *  
  
Hours had passed, and Harry, not for the first time, wondered exactly what Hermione had gotten herself into. Ron was mostly silent now, having spent the first few hours grumbling to himself about Harry's tendency to shut people out at the most inopportune moments.  
  
Harry, on the other hand, found himself distracted by memories that swirled around him on the whirling air. He remembered Hermione's first steady boyfriend, her first kiss (surprisingly not the same bloke), her first bad grade, and even her first break up. And after each episode, he was there in the common room to help her through.  
  
He smiled as he recalled the night she and Seamus broke up. She had come into the common room with a flurry of parchments and books and collapsed down next to where Harry was attempting to study. Attempting being the operative word.  
  
"We broke up," she said dully, her blazing eyes betraying her true emotional state.  
  
"Oh?" he asked quietly. "What happened? Did you fight? You two never fight."  
  
"I'm not quite sure what it was about," she groaned, obviously frustrated. "He was complaining about Snape's last test and how Snape doesn't grade fairly and I told him that maybe if he studied, he could pull up his grade- we both now he didn't study for that test-I wish he would take his studies more seriously. Anyway, from there it just went straight to 'you smart, me stupid? What you say! Dah! I hit you with club and drag you to cave. Bad concubine! Bad!"  
  
Having vented, she sighed deeply and sunk back into the couch dejectedly.  
  
"He didn't *really* call you a concubine, did he?"  
  
"Harry! You're not helping, you know." But she wasn't really mad because she curled up and laid her head in his lap. And stroking her hair, watching her as she watched the flickering fire, he had the urge to kiss her. But just then, Seamus, Dean and Ron came in and Hermione went up to her dorm.  
  
There had been many moments like that throughout their friendship and Harry wondered why he'd never actually acted on one of those urges. Perhaps it was because he didn't want to risk the relationship they had now, but Harry knew he was just making excuses. Ron and Hermione had dated on and off again for an entire year and they were closer than ever.  
  
Sighing, he pushed the thoughts far from his mind and concentrated on the moon rising on the distant horizon.  
  
* * * * *  
  
TBC.  
  
Responses to Reviews:  
  
Slinky: And yet *another* Dashboard Confessional song in this one. I swear, sometimes I'm just in one of those moods. Well, I hope you got that really boring paper done (especially considering it's been a month and a half since I last posted!)  
  
Naurhen: ::hides:: um. sorry? I really didn't mean for it to be this long. And congrats on the fiancé. it's definitely exciting isn't it?  
  
Travelgirl: I've never actually been to Donegal. Just seen pictures of my friend's vacation near there and fell in love with it. It is beautiful.  
  
Rebecca: Yeah, it is moving rather slowly, isn't it? I had planned for more to happen in this chapter but it became so long that I had to cut it off earlier than I anticipated. Thank you!  
  
Erisnymph: You know, I read and reread that dream sequence I see where you are coming from, but short of putting in a tacky "dream sequence" header, I'm not quite sure what else I could've done. But no, it was completely unintentional and I'll attempt to watch for the same mistake in later chapters. Thank you.  
  
Michelle Foxxy: Hmm. I believe I have only described Jonathan as having brown hair and brown eyes with a great smile. I left it a bit ambiguous thinking that the reader could picture him in whatever way they wanted to but if you think I need to put in more details, tell me.  
  
Icy Stormz: I just hope you still are enjoying this fic after all this time! Hehe  
  
Bunnyktn: I realize that you have probably lost interest in this story by now, and for that I apologize.  
  
Blinky86: I like Jonathan because he can be anything. he can be the suave gentleman to the ruthless death eater. characters like that are fun.  
  
Firey fairy: Oh, honey, hopefully by now there must be some new prospects. Any new guys on the horizon?  
  
Serpent du feu: Yes, in terms of story length, it is taking a long time but if you look at the time line in the story, it's only been a few days. But I do promise it'll happen, and soon.  
  
Illy: thank you!  
  
BlueFrost: I'm glad you think I have the characters down. I, myself, am not so sure most of the time. But thank you.  
  
RyuichiFanGirl: I just like taunting all of you. I'm evil, what can I say?  
  
Nysa: Don't you hate that? When you know it's just a story with fictional characters and yet you still feel embarrassed for them? I do.  
  
Yin: You are the only one so far to start to understand all the little hints I have been dropping about what's going to happen. Rayanne is a very pivotal character for this story and her quote end quote relationship with Jonathan will be called to the forefront but not in the way you perceived it. It won't be quite so mushy.  
  
Molly & Dracolover & Holli & caitie & GothicTemptress: thank you all for hanging in there with me.  
  
Tweetgurl: Yes, steamy is on it's way. I meant for it to be so much sooner but then the plot kinda carried me away. Don't you hate when that happens?  
  
Katmillia: The clichés are basically the entire reason I put so much time in between school and the story. Don't you hate that?  
  
Bitch: I just feel wrong typing that in a non-violent manner. anyway, thank you.  
  
Tom felton's babe: I love Harry to bits. just not with Hermione. Take comfort in that!  
  
Smashed Sunshine: And I keep on meaning to review the latest chapters of your stories but I haven't gotten to it in my list of links yet. soon, very soon.  
  
Cirece: Nope, not die. just dwindle until you can't take it anymore. hopefully the next part won't be so long.  
  
supergal88: I ditched my fiancé to write this and now he wants revenge. on you. Hehe  
  
Avid Reader: I'm not much a fan of D/Hr as well. not sure what compelled me to write this pairing except for the fact that I haven't had the nerve to try my hand at slash.  
  
Hp1fan: Fluff, there will be fluff. patience is a virtue. I think.  
  
Sir-writes-a lot: Yeah, I know, I probably lost half of my audience. I am prepared to face the consequences and only receive five reviews as my punishment :)  
  
Freya: Yes, writer's block does suck, and I'm sorry for it taking so long.  
  
Sumeragi Kousei: Reading in lecture are you? Ingenious.  
  
Lulu81: I honestly believe that the fics that you accidentally stumble upon tend to be the ones you most enjoy, no? Thank you for all your kind words.. I'll be emailing you later after work (I'm running late as it is)  
  
Thank you all, again!  
  
Jennie 


	9. Non Compos Mentis

Safety in the Storm

_by_ jennieslife (jennieln)__

_Author's Note:  _It's been months since I last updated and for that, I apologize. This part is in thanks to two very special reviewers whose emails gave just enough inspiration to get off my lazy arse and start writing again: Gothic Temptress (You have been with me from the very beginning and I appreciate that more than anything) and Nithya (You have no idea how much your email meant to me. Thank you again.)   
  
This part is slightly shorter than usual, mostly due to the fact that I desperately wanted to post *something* and I won't have an opportunity to write until next Thursday.   
  
Happy Reading!   
Jennie

Chapter Nine

_"Non Compos Mentis" _

_(Not of Sound Mind)_

The fire's warmth had finally seeped deep into her body by the time Jonathan's footsteps were heard tromping down the stairs.

"I've looked everywhere.  There's not even the slightest hint of a clue that a person had ever been up there," he told her, his voice soft, reassuring.  He peered down on her with a timid cautiousness that made her uncomfortable.

"There _was a man.  I'm not crazy."  But she had the feeling that she was saying it more to herself than to him._

He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment.  "I'm not saying you are, I just—"  Jonathan shook his head sharply before digging into his pocket and removing a small folded handkerchief.  "Here," he offered.  "Do you know what this is?"

Nervously, Hermione peeled back the folded cloth and examined the small, intensely green leaves that were inside.  After a moment, she looked back up at Jonathan, her mind working through the implications.  "It looks like Alihotsy, but the leaves are too small."

Kneeling down beside her, Jonathan nodded.  "You're right; it's a relative of the Alihotsy family.  It's usually not grown around here because of the wet environment but the reaction it causes is fairly similar in that the oil it secretes—"

"Is known to cause hysteria and fits of paranoia," she finished for him.  "Alihotsy is used in some fear potions."  To be perfectly honest, she was being to feel extremely sheepish.

"And in this case, instead of needing to be consumed, it only needs to have contact with skin to take effect.  This is called Aliroytsy and not only causes hysteria and paranoia but also delusions."  He took the leaves from her and carefully deposited them into the trash.  "I found it in the green house.  You could've brushed up against it without even knowing it or—"  He gently lifted her hand and traced a few of the delicate cuts he had gotten from trying to get the door open.  "Or, more likely, due to the fantastical nature of this hallucination, it got directly into your bloodstream."

She forced herself to stand but as soon as she did, she had to lean against the wall.  How idiotic could she be?  It had all been in her mind.

"It was all in my mind," she whispered aloud, tasting the bitter truth of the words, before wrapping her arms around herself, trying to ward off the sudden chill in the room.  Her foot tapped nervously, maniacally, and it took her a moment to gather her wits enough to force herself to stop tapping.  Once accomplished, she glanced up at Jonathan with a weak smile.

Jonathan hesitated, a pained expression marring his beautiful face.  "I'm afraid so, love," he finally murmured uncomfortably.  "May I suggest no more impromptu trips up to the greenhouse in the future?"

Quickly agreeing, Hermione also promised herself that she wouldn't be so gullible in the future, under the influence of a plant's secretion or not.  Suddenly, the heat from the fire smothered her again and she loosened Jonathan's oversized cloak as she fought the sense of suffocation that was threatening to overwhelm her.  The room was quickly closing in on her and her stomach roiled in objection.

"Air.  I need air," she gasped and she turned on her heel and threw the back door open.  The cold air was a much needed shock to her senses but not enough for her stomach as she soon found herself lurching violently as she heaved up its meager contents.  Hermione could hear Jonathan's footsteps behind her but to her great relief he seemed to sense her need to be left alone and he stayed back.  After a minute, she pushed up off the frozen ground and gratefully accepted the handkerchief he offered, a small part of her wondering just how many he carried.

"I'll be right in….  Just give me a few minutes."

She heard, rather than saw, him nod and he left her to her own devices.  She was embarrassed and unsettled by her reaction to the day's events, but most of all, she was furious with herself.  She should've been the first to realize that something was wrong with her, rather than letting her imagination run wild.

Deciding that she couldn't avoid going inside forever, Hermione forced herself to climb the stone steps and go through the back door that Jonathan had left open for her.  He was sitting at the table, reading through some parchments and sipping a cup of tea.  If he realized she was standing in the doorway, he showed no sign of it and she closed the door as he pushed a mug of coffee her way.

Her head began to throb.  The thing that irked her the most was that she was just causing more trouble for Jonathan and Draco to deal with.  They had enough on their plates as it was, they didn't need her imagining up some more.

She gulped down the hot liquid in a few huge swallows and she felt it slowly burn away all her anxieties.  More likely than not, Jonathan had put some sort of calming spell or potion in it, but for once she wasn't angry or offended at being drugged without her knowledge.  Besides, she could tell by the look on his face that they had more important things to be worrying about.

Finally, she voiced the question she hadn't even realized she had been avoiding thinking about.

"Where's Draco?"

* * * * * * * * * *

A wan moon hung low in the sky as the wind picked up, blowing his hair wildly around him.  Damien was in a silent rage—they were two hours behind schedule already—and the gathering forces were beginning to feel the pressure.  Exhausted both physically and mentally, Draco pinched the bridge of his nose before slipping away from the milling crowd and into the garden maze, losing himself in the tall hedges and taking temporary shelter from the wind.

Ignoring the empty, aching feeling deep in his stomach, Draco sat heavily on a gneiss stone bench and stared out into the small, squared-in garden he had wandered into.  All around him plants were magically in full bloom, unheeding the snow, wind or even the dark.  Although beautiful, it seemed to have lost it's attraction as it defied nature.  It was just surface now.  Not that Draco was a garden kind of guy, because he wasn't.  At all.  But it was a chance to get away and finally let his guard down.

Relaxed for the first time all day, Draco's mind drifted automatically to the one thing he had forced himself not to think about.  Hermione.  He suddenly pictured areas and regions he had not yet explored; he saw the slopes and curves of her body and the silver starlight reflected in her eyes as she vainly tried to figure him out.  His aching fingers itched for that touch of her that seemed eternally so close, yet so far away, and his lips curled themselves into an unnoticed smile as he stared into a garden he did not see.

His mind was consumed by her.

Suddenly, his body was wracked by a violent yawn, slamming him harshly into reality.  He felt a painful longing for sleep.  Instead, he forced himself to stand and took a deep breath in order to compose himself.  As he made his way back through the sheltered maze, he passed a small reflecting pond in which floated several lily pads.  Glancing down, he saw himself reflected, his face illuminated by the flickering orange of the torches that lined the garden.  Then a sharp gust of wind distorted his image in the water and he continued along, rejoining the growing group of death eaters—or, as Damien liked to refer to them as, Puritists.

Draco still wasn't quite sure what would be happening later.  All he could discern was that they were sacrificing something… or someone.  He shuddered at the thought and pushed by a few old classmates with a bit more force than he had intended.

Finally, he spotted Damien talking quietly with Rayanne off to the side of all the throngs of followers.  As much as he dreaded going near the female Bradford, his desire to go back to Jonathan's manor was stronger.

"Malfoy," Damien acknowledged with a curt nod, not seeming to notice or to care about Rayanne's attention suddenly deviating from the conversation they had been having.  She looked Draco slowly from head to toe before smirking.

"I heard you were beat up by a girl," she said wryly, fluttering her eyelashes just a bit.

"Nice to see you too, Rayanne," he bit out.  "Are you staying for the ceremony?"  Although he knew his face remained impassive, he could hear just a slight touch of impatience colour his voice.  When had small talk become such a chore?

"I wouldn't miss it for the world…"  She trailed off as a group of young men walked by, blatantly leering, and her lip quirked in disgust.  Draco had to wonder at the balls those guys had to do that in front of her brother but Damien seemed completely oblivious, lost in the parchments he was reviewing.  "I know they're pure bloods but I wish they would act like it.  They behave like sodding children."  Distaste dripped through her diction, a sentiment he understood perfectly.

"Then again," he offered.  "You dislike everyone."  She favored him briefly with a bitter smile.

"I wouldn't say *everyone*… perhaps only ninety-nine percent of the world's population."

He chuckled despite the sudden aching at the back of his throat.  "And the last percent is teetering on the edge, right?"

"You of all people should know."  She paused as she examined his face and gently brushed a lock of hair off his forehead.  "You look like hell.  Have you been here all day?"

Draco nodded and flicked his eyes back to her brother.  She had given him the perfect lead-in, all he had to do now was ask.  But before he had a chance to even open his mouth, Rayanne rattled on.

"I'm sure Damien won't mind if I take you home for a… shower.  Is that alright with you?" she asked her brother, resting her hand on his forearm to get his attention.

It took a moment.  "What?  Oh, yes, fine.  One hour.  But *you* stay," he added pointedly to Rayanne who pouted accordingly.  "If you go with him, you know you won't be back in an hour."

Damien obviously had no idea that Draco had never and would never touch Rayanne with a ten-foot-pole much less spend an hour alone in her apartment with her.  But, instead of correcting him, Draco winked and whispered, "Maybe next time," before apparating to Jonathan's.

* * * * * * * * * *

Harry could tell that Ron was close to panic.  Not that Harry himself wasn't, it was just rare for his best friend to be so tense and so silent.  In fact, Harry hadn't seen him act like this since his twin boys were left in the care of his twin brothers (in which case, the panic was completely understandable in Harry's opinion).  They had been on their brooms, flying at top speeds, for hours now and he had lost feeling in his toes sometime within the last forty minutes.  Or so he thought.

Again, he focused his attention to the small orb-like compass that throbbed steadily in the palm of his hand.  They were close, maybe only a half a kilometer away, and he contemplated landing early and going the rest of the way on foot in case someone was watching the sky.  After a moment of silent deliberation, Harry raised a hand and signaled to Ron for them to land.  Though Ron's face remained an impassive sort of grimace, Harry could've sworn he heard a sigh of relief come from the large man (which was ridiculous because the sound of the rushing wind had drowned out any attempts at conversation earlier).

Tilting the nose of the broom downward, Harry made a tight descent, all dive and no sightseeing and he sensed Ron doing the same not too far behind.  They slipped through an opening in the tops of the trees and down to the mossy floor below.  Ron's landing was not what Harry would consider graceful and Ron seemed more inclined to blame the dense, woodsy area (he was cursing everything from the bushes to the knats buzzing around his head) than his rusty flying skills.  After silencing his friend, Harry re-oriented himself as his eyes became adjusted to the limited light beneath the trees.  A nighttime wind rustled through the tops of the trees so that ghostly leaf shadows danced over the ground, leaving a foreign, nagging feeling deep in the pit of his stomach.

Shaking off all the foreboding feeling that flooded suddenly over him, Harry swung his broom over his shoulder and nodded down to what, at one time, could have possibly been a trail.  Now it was nothing more than a lull in the closely grown trees and underbrush, but it looked to be the most ideal place to try and travel by.  Ron nodded as he squinted through the trees and he arched his back and cringed when it emitted a chorus of cracks.

Fifteen minutes later, they were battling the overgrown brush—Harry was hesitant to use magik that close to their destination, who knew what wards or detectors were up—and they were attempting to remain quiet but not quite succeeding.  As they traveled, Harry was reminded of the Forbidden Forest that bordered Hogwarts.  It wasn't that it looked the same—this forest was too damp and too… empty.  At least in the Forbidden Forest, you would come across a creature or two: birds, unicorns, centaurs, huge-man-eating spiders, and occasionally Dark Lords feasting on unicorn blood.  But the only thing they'd come across there was an annoyingly large amount of knats.

He glanced behind him to Ron to see if her was thinking along the same lines as he was but found a nasty glare being thrown his way instead.

"Just like old times, huh?" Harry joked lightly, earning a grimace from his friend.

Ron swatted at a fly and almost toppled over in the process.  "Except for the whole jungle safari and the praying frantically to any god that'll listen parts."

"She'll be fine," Harry said and he wished he could swallow the sudden lump in his throat.

_She'll be fine._

* * * * * * * * * * 

The moment she heard footsteps in the front foyer, Hermione leapt up from her chair where she had been perusing a well-worn book, realized what she had done, and then sat back down just as quickly so as not to appear overeager.  Through the corner of her eye she could see Jonathan shaking with silent mirth and she scowled in his direction while trying to keep her embarrassment to a minimum and keep an eye on the door at the same time.

Draco entered not twenty seconds later and she took in his pale, bloodshot countenance without trying to appear as doing so.  His clothing was wrinkled, his shoulders were slumped, and even his hair looked too tired to stay in place.

"We held dinner for you," she said softly and she watched as his eyes flickered from Jonathan, to her, to the food on the table, and back to Jonathan.  The two men exchanged an indiscernible look that seemed to communicate much more than Hermione would ever be able to understand.

"Thanks.  I'm starved."  He sat at the head of the table, a seat they all seemed to unconsciously avoid for some unnamed reason, and the house elf instantly began serving them.

They sat in silence as the courses were laid out in front of them and Hermione was beginning to feel as though she might go mad until Jonathan cleared his throat.

"How long do you have?" he asked, dully glancing at his watch.

Draco frowned, his eyes focusing somewhere far beyond the run-down kitchen.  "Hour.  You?"

"Same."  Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her seat at Jonathan's lifeless tone.   "And so it begins."

The rest of the meal was eaten in silence.

* * * * * * * * * *

The enormity of the situation had hit Draco the moment he apparated in the dimly lit foyer of the manor.  This was the culmination of so many years of struggle.  It was finally going to come to a head, whether he came out on top or not.  It wasn't until the end of dinner did he realize that something was off with the dynamics of the group.  He first pinned it on his own moody silence but knew that it was something else entirely. 

He looked, really _looked_, at Hermione and could've thrown himself in front of a bludgers for being such a prat.  Her eyes were slightly red-rimmed, but not swollen, and her cheeks were tinted a little.  

Something had happened.

The food was being cleared off the table when she finally noticed his attention.  

"What happened?" he asked quietly, addressing Jonathan but not able to tear his eyes from Hermione.

Her gaze left his and turned inward and he saw her grip her fork tight enough so that her knuckles began to lose colour.  Uncertain, her lips had parted slightly as if to say something before being pressed into a tightly controlled line.

"Hermione did a bit of exploring today and stumbled upon a greenhouse."  Jonathan raised a hand to silence Draco as he opened his mouth to start a long string of obscenities.  "It's nothing big, she just brushed up against some Aliroytsy and had quite a vivid if not terrifying hallucination.  Nothing a bit of sleep won't cure."

Draco forced a claming breath through his body until he felt controlled enough to speak.  She was embarrassed, that much was obvious, and obviously greatly upset.  So, instead of berating her, Draco surprised himself as well as the others by grinning.  "And here I was going to suggest that Jonathan and I try to get your wand back, but maybe that isn't such a grand idea after all.  I mean, we don't want you to start accidentally hexing anything that moves thinking they're the boogey man.  We gotta think about the poor house elves here."

There was a pause and Draco held his breath thinking that he might've crossed a boundary he shouldn't have.  But then she giggled.

"If you say so," she laughed, and Draco was satisfied with the balance that had been restored with her laugh.

"Now, I'm dead on my feet," he continued.  "Do you think you could possibly part with a small portion of your blessed coffee?"

* * * * * * * * * *

TBC…


End file.
